A/N: There is a reason for this thing being late…namely that it's been Hell Week (Production Week for non-theatrical types) for my school musical and I've been at school for forty-five hours in the past three days. But excuses are futile. Look. A new chapter. Read and enjoy…please.

***

CHAPTER TWO
General Confusion

Hermione, for the first time in her life, suffered the indignity of being spat out of a fireplace to a sooty hearth, covered in a light film of ash. Spitting and coughing, she didn't see who helped her up until she finished hacking up what felt like a good half of her lung content.

"You all right?" said her helper roughly. Of course it would be Ron…

She went red as she answered. "Yes, I'll be fine."

A small figure recognizable as Ginny hurried over with a clothes brush. "Oh, it was your first time on Floo! Sorry, Hermione, it's rough on some people…"

Hermione just shook her head and cleared her throat a few times as Mrs. Weasley Apparated into the Leaky Cauldron's front parlor, where the fireplace was located.

"Everyone here?"

"Yeah, Mum," answered what sounded like Fred from one of the corners. "All present and accounted for."

About then Hermione managed to stand up straight and open her eyes. Thank God, only the Weasleys and Harry were in the parlor, and they knew her well enough that coughing attacks didn't matter. Still…Ron…

"Good—no one lost down Knockturn Alley…oh dear," Mrs. Weasley said suddenly, noticing her for the first time. "Hermione, are you all right?"

Suddenly the hand on her arm disappeared and she saw by peripheral vision Ron stepping backwards, looking decidedly red around the ears, and backing into a coat rack. Mrs. Weasley went into extremely-motherly-hen, while the others, thankfully, pretended nothing had happened.

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley, I'll be fine in a moment…"

"It was her first time using Floo powder," Ginny supplied helpfully. "Hermione'll be all right, won't you?"

Thank God for relatively sensible people, Hermione thought as she nodded. "Exactly. I'm all right now."

That was the end of that as Mrs. Weasley gave her one last slightly concerned look and then said loudly to everyone, "We'll be going along, then!"

A mass exodus occurred out of the parlor and to the main pub, while Ron untangled himself from the coat rack, blushing furiously.

***

Half an hour later the group of seven had dwindled to three. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley had gone off to get books, and Fred and George caught up with Lee Jordan, leaving Harry, Hermione, and Ron to wander around Diagon Alley looking for something to do. They'd already picked up books and potions ingredients, and now…?

"So now what?" Ron asked.

Harry and Hermione both shrugged.

They walked a bit more, but stopped suddenly. A massive crowd had formed around Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"What's going on?" Harry started to say, and a boy in front of them turned. He was probably a seventh-year, but the look on his face could have matched any little kid on his birthday.

"New broom out—the Firebolt Two! It's got loads of new features…"

"Really?" And they were both lost, listening eagerly as the seventh-year told them about the broom.

Hermione waited for five seconds. Exactly. Then she turned on one heel and walked away. But if they were so absolutely obsessed with some new thing to race around and break their necks on, it was their fault, and she could go pick out new dress robes.

Madam Malkin's shop actually did have a few patrons—mostly first-years, and two girls of her age. She didn't know the first, but the girl next to her was Lavender Brown.

Lavender caught sight of her before she could hide. "Hi, Hermione!" she bubbled cheerfully, waving her over. "Have you met Lizzie yet?"

Sighing quietly, Hermione went over, arranging her face into what she hoped looked something like a smile. "Hello, Lavender. Lizzie, I guess?"

The other girl looked at her and grinned. She looked nice enough—a bit taller than Lavender (but then, everyone was), honey-colored curls, and a spatter of freckles over her nose. "Hey. It's Elizabeth Thomas, but everyone calls me Lizzie."

She definitely had an accent, as well. "I'm Hermione Granger. Are you from America?"

Lizzie nodded, and then said a bit gushingly, "Oh, yes. I was born there and lived in Boston, Massachusetts, just long enough to pick up the accent and a whole lot of slang and since then we've been traveling. My dad's in the Department of Mysteries for the International Confederation of Wizards."

"Oh." For one of the first times in her life, Hermione had no idea what to say, and the three girls stood in awkward silence until Lavender said, "Lizzie's in Scotland this year, though, and she's going to Hogwarts! And in fifth year!"

Hermione felt like she was drowning in exclamation points. "That's great," she said. "I've got to go get fitted for robes, though…see you, Lizzie. Bye, Lavender." A little more quickly than was strictly polite, she hurried to one of the clerks and asked for a fitting.

Annoyingly, though, Lizzie hopped up on the stool next to her. "Hey, Lavender saw one of her friends and they're off. You're Hermione?"

"Yes," Hermione said, resigning herself to a dull ten minutes or so.

"Interesting name."

Hermione didn't say anything, and the silence went a bit cold.

"Of course," said Lizzie, as if she were nervous and trying to hide it by being offhand, "I always thought it was a little boring talking about names. What's Hogwarts like?"

Startled by the sudden topic change, Hermione said, "Oh, it's excellent. Really beautiful, and the classes are really interesting. The library's got about a million books and Gryffindor has the best school Quidditch team in Europe, in my opinion."

"That's one thing I don't get, is about the houses and all that," Lizzie said quickly, trying to fill the air with words.

"Well, the school's split into four parts, they're Houses, and the students in each House are picked because of certain qualities. There's a Sorting Hat that tells you where you go."

"I see," said Lizzie, plainly not. "And you said something about a library?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, it's the best collection of books I've ever seen. There's all kinds of books in there, history and spellbooks and geography."

Lizzie grinned at her again, almost hopefully. "That's great. I love books."

"That's you done," the clerk said suddenly, startling them both. "Your robes will be finished in about five minutes…is there anything else?"
"No…well, dress robes."

The clerk, a youngish lady of maybe twenty-five, with blond hair plastered to her head in something of a helmet, led her off to the racks, leaving Lizzie behind on the stool with another attendant. Hermione gave her one smile and then followed the clerk again.

Ten minutes after that, she left with a bag holding her school robes and her new dress robes. Immediately there were Harry and Ron, walking from the direction of Quality Quidditch Supplies with looks of disgust on their faces.

"I don't get it—it doesn't go any faster than the first one," Harry was saying.

"And all the special features—a footrest? You'd pay an extra fifty Galleons for one measly bar of metal—hey, Hermione."

She avoided looking superior, and pretended she hadn't heard any of the past exchange. "Did you see the broom?"

They nodded. "Not that great," said Ron. "The Firebolt's excellent enough."

After a sort of ambivalent sound that could have meant anything, Hermione informed them, "There's a new girl in our year, Elizabeth Thomas. I just met her in Madam Malkin's."

"And?"

Hermione shrugged. "She's a Lavender clone with an American accent."

"Oh," Ron said, wincing. "That's bad."

"Yeah," said Harry. They stood quiet for a second, thinking about it.

"So, any bets on who our Defense teacher's going to be this year?" asked Ron, and they started walking again, talking about anything and not really caring what was said. It was enough to be together in the summer, surrounded by wizards.

***

They were back at the Burrow by three that afternoon, carrying two or three bags each and, for the most part, successful (Fred hadn't found the right type of bee sting for use in one of his potions—meaning a new Wizard Wheeze was in the works). There was enough time before dinner for a Quidditch scrimmage, which translated to "re-teaching Hermione how to fly a broomstick".

Well, at least they're amused, she thought vindictively as they started walking towards the Burrow again, broomsticks over their shoulders. Fred and George were nearly falling on the ground laughing. Only Ginny walked without some kind of evil grin on her face.

"Hermione, it's all right, really," she muttered. "You never fell, right?"

"Because I couldn't get up enough momentum to lose my balance, but whatever you say," Hermione whispered sarcastically. "I'd rather watch."

Ginny gave her a pleading look. "But then we don't have an even number!"

By then, though, they'd returned to the outer shed (more of a raggedy lean-to) and all the brooms were propped up inside it. Mrs. Weasley called, "Hurry it up, your father's home!"

A mass exodus to the kitchen occurred.

"Dad! Any news about the missing person?" Ron demanded.

Mr. Weasley looked exhausted. "No," he said, shut his mouth, and stayed quiet.

After a minute, Ginny asked timidly, "Where's Percy?"

"He's coming."

"Good," said George, inexplicably. He was spared questions, though, by Percy appearing about a second after his statement. He looked irritated.

"—weaselly little worm doesn't start working, I'm going to cut his thumbs off with a…" Suddenly he noticed how many odd looks he was getting from his siblings and parents. "Sorry, Mum, Dad. A coworker. That's all. When's dinner?"

Mrs. Weasley took his uncharacteristic outburst in stride and said, "Right now."

The meal was a bit quieter than usual. Fred and George stayed mostly silent, and Ginny said nothing at all. Percy and Mr. Weasley, to make up for the lack of talking, spoke loudly and enthusiastically about work.

Hermione mouthed at Harry and Ron to eat fast. A little bewildered, they did, but then realized midway through bites of potato what she'd been getting at, and the three bolted the rest of their dinners and left quickly.

"I thought you'd never catch on, honestly," she said in an undertone while they were marching up the stairs.

"Well—"

Ron challenged, "So what was so important that we had to catch on?"

At a loss, Hermione demanded after a few seconds, "Did you actually want to stay in there?"
He thought about it. "Well, no."

"Exactly. Harry—"

Harry glanced at her. "What?"

"You should tell Mr. Weasley about the wand."

"I know." He paused, and then asked, "Anyone want a game of chess?"

Ron volunteered, as Harry looked a bit…well, withdrawn was the best word for it, quiet and pale, Hermione thought. She watched as they set up the chessboard in Ron's room and started a game.

***

The last week of summer passed in a sort of whirl of Quidditch scrimmages (Hermione actually managed to go fast enough to make a noticeable difference in the angle of her ponytail to her head), sunshine, and no-news-is-bad-news. Nothing about Isabel Stone's kidnapping had been discovered, and as Mr. Ollivander was lost somewhere in the Black Forest, attempting to catch another unicorn for wand centers until September the tenth, he couldn't be reached. The other European wandmakers were surprised that yew and phoenix feather could even be mixed in a wand without the whole laboratory going up in a spectacular fireworks display.

So, no news, and Hermione re-learned flying. All in all, a relatively good week.

The sun, though, had other ideas on September the first, and decided to hide behind a sky full of clouds that for the past week had been white and fluffy and only now went dark and threatening. Hermione woke up to a sky the color of pencil lead and a heavy, wet breeze blowing through the screen on the window.

"Hermione!"

Ron again.

With a strange sense of deja vu, she pulled on her dressing gown and went into the hallway. "What?"

"Harry's dreaming again. And shut up, I'll tell you," Ron said quickly, just before she started talking, and Hermione closed her mouth. "He's talking, but the only thing I understood was 'This place again?' and 'the old Muggle' and the rest was gibberish."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you. I guess—just ask him about it when he wakes up."

"Yeah."

They stood there, looking at each other. Suddenly thunder rumbled outside, and both of them jumped a bit.

"It'll be just like last year," Hermione said.

"Hope the firsties don't drown," said Ron, grinning.

She smiled back and went back into her room, and only then let herself go red.

***

A/N: Tell me what you think. I need opinions, hopefully constructive…and for readers of Order of the Phoenix, how does it compare? And if flames be your medium, congratulations and please tell me why you possess such unresolved feelings of anger towards my harmless little story. Counseling, to resolve your anger, will involve aluminum baseball bats and an angry Puffskein.

~Flamewing, who wishes you a nice day