Disclaimer: This is a tale of indeterminate origin. It is not written by
J.K. Rowling, owner of the Potterverse. In fact, it is entirely possible
that aliens have kidnapped our beloved fanfiction writer (that'd be me, yo)
and simply dropped this story in her brain. Like with Cartman and the anal
probe. . .only completely and totally not. Eww.
Thanks thanks thanks to Ali, my fabulous muse, for generally being encouraging. As always, so much love to my reviewers who say nice things to me and add me to your favorite stories lists and all that. And especially to those of you who reviewed *twice*, absolutely tickling me pink. PINK, I tell you! People who say they write for themselves are big fat liars because I know I write for *you*, and not just in the review grubbing sense of the word, though they are, as always, appreciated. If you weren't mentioned above, please note that I still received and read your review and tucked it into my special review folder in my email program and giggled and tutted and thought about what you said. Special thanks to Raine, who pointed out an error that I'm making. It's pretty touch and go, thoughts on that one, so I think I'm going to keep doing it this way for time's sake. Other reviewers, please let me know if you're having trouble reading this.
Okay. Reviewer love out of the way, on with the story. . . Author note at the end, telling you all the things that would spoil it for you if I told you now.
8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8
"all these questions and their answers seemed to change"
-idlewild, "the remote part/scottish fiction"
8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8
George Weasley was, one could say, in a state. In the week or so since he left Hermione in her room, he'd made a few semi-discreet inquiries about what had happened with her, Harry and Ron. He'd managed to piece together the incident last July straight from Harry's mouth (with the aid of a little alcohol back at his and Fred's flat) and Ron had confessed that he'd completely forgotten to owl Hermione back last time she had sent him something and had he seen her lately 'cause he and Harry hadn't? It was amazing what they'd said under the influence of some firewhiskey. The stuff was better than Veritaserum and, consequently, George had heard a lot of things from the boys that surprised him a bit. Now George was still George, but he wasn't thick. He couldn't be, co-owning a business like this and inventing all the products and whatnot. Harry had pulled a snog- and-run on Hermione and Ron was getting clumsy in their correspondence. So really the only conclusion he could come to was that Hermione was, as always, correct about everything she had told him. It was unfortunate, sometimes, that Ron had met up with. . .well, the smartest witch George knew, anyway. Probably the smartest witch anyone knew. Most girls would've been able to ignore what the boys were doing or, at least, not see through it quite so well. He let out a little snort at the thought and was rewarded with his twin brother looking up at him from across the office.
"Problem, brother mine?" Fred, knowing the answer, put his quill down. "And does this have something to do with your sudden desire to spend more time question our younger sibling and his best chum?"
George started tapping the end of his quill against the desk and didn't answer right away. "Well, yeah. Have you noticed Hermione hasn't been around this summer? And when we brought her here she vanished, and it wasn't a mysterious vanishing. She ran away and you hadn't even been near her." Fred raised an eyebrow at him and George continued, a little defensively. "I just wanted to see what had happened. They'd been practically inseparable before then. I was a little curious, I'm only bloody human, Fred." George's voice had risen oddly at the end there.
"You sound like the our former Quidditch captain. Who, woe and despair upon us, can't make it to our little gathering," here Fred wiggled his eyebrows, "tomorrow. Says he has to do an appearance at some big company la-de-dah thing on Sunday afternoon and he's making a mint."
"And that is a shame." George seemed oddly reluctant to say anything else, both on the party they were hosting at their flat this weekend and the issues with the three teenagers. He had noticed Fred looking at him a little oddly since the incident with Hermione last week and wasn't quite sure how to interpret it.
"Hrm, yes, well. Oliver has promised to make it up to us. Seems the weekend after, he's having a party. Asked if we'd be able to make it. And I told him that of course we would." Fred looked over at his twin, noticing the faraway look in his eyes.
"Okay." George was still tapping his quill against the desk, giving Fred the suspicion that he hadn't heard a word.
"Oliver is throwing a party that will feature Hermione Granger jumping naked out of a cake." A-ha, Fred thought, that's what he was looking for. George, apparently, was paying attention now, if the way he accidentally threw his quill across the room was any indication. "George. Tell me it's not true. You and Hermione? I *knew* it. Ever since you went galloping after her."
"No, no, not even. I didn't. . .galoop? Is that a new type of Portkey? I Apparated." George looked at Fred with a scowl on his face. "I'm just worried about her. Harry and Ron have been prats and she's feeling really bad about it. When I went over there to check on her, she was angry. Tell me, twin mine, have you ever seen Hermione Granger really truly angry?"
Fred looked a little perplexed as he thought about it. "Well, no, I don't think I have. Not since I've known her. Our dear Hermy-own-ninny is an expert at the petty bickering and sometimes she and Ron could hold a grudge, but I've never seen her really and truly mad. There was that incident in third year, though. . ." The perplexed look was quickly replaced by a dreamy smile on both of their faces.
"Yeah. Malfoy. The git. Anyway, Fred, I don't feel anything for Hermione except for concern. That is it." George looked down at his desk and pulled a blueprint off of a stack of them. "Come help me with the layout for the Hogsmeade store."
Fred wasn't convinced, but decided to wait his twin brother out. Moving over to the table, he began looking over the documents in question. Twenty minutes passed while they debated various features the building had and tried to see if they really would need to make various architectural changes the designers had suggested. Looking over, Fred noticed that George had a particularly distant look on his face, even while participating in the discussion, and he had a sneaking thought that he knew where his sibling's thoughts really were. Putting down his quill, Fred stared at George until he looked up.
"What? Fred, blueprints, store, re-mem-ber?" Emphasizing the last syllable, George gestured down to the surface of the desk.
Fred looked at him mockingly. "I do. It would seem, however, Forge, that you are not paying attention. I ask again, one more time," here Fred clutched his chest and leaned forward, "what are you not telling your dear brother?"
George looked right back at Fred. "Ron? There isn't anything I'm not telling Ron." Fred looked a bit put out at this and decided to try a different technique.
"Does Hermione know? I mean, I can hardly blame you. She's developed into quite a bird. We should invite her to our soiree." Fred looked slyly at George.
George looked back at Fred. "Don't call her that."
"Ah-ha! So you do like her." Fred looked triumphant and George, at the most, looked annoyed.
"No, it's just that Mum would kill you if she heard you say that about Hermione."
"But it's true, isn't it? Hermione Granger, all grown up. You know, she got the Order of Merlin, First Class." Fred leaned back in his chair.
"Have you gone daft? Of course I know, I was at the ceremony, along with the rest of our entire family, remember? I've already told you, I'm only concerned. So bugger off, Fred. We have work to do."
"No. Not until you admit it. Out loud, to me and yourself and Grati." The bird in question fluffed up a little at hearing his name and George simply looked even more irritated than he had before.
"This is the only way we're going to get something done, then? Fine. I admit that I am a little bit keen on Hermione."
"'A bit keen'?"
"Okay. I am interested in getting to know Hermione better because she's intelligent and attractive and nice." George looked pained at this point, which was a startling counterpoint to the glee on Fred's face.
"Oi! Wait until I tell Angelina!" Fred was actually doing a little dance at this point. "Forge and Hermione, sitting in a tree, s-n-o-g. . ." Fred didn't have time to finish his little ditty because George had jumped out of his chair and started to make his way over to where his twin was dancing a jig. Where had Fred learned to dance a jig, anyway?
"No, no, no, you git, don't tell anyone. I don't want her to find out." George looked a little frantic at the thought. "She'd probably never speak to me again."
"Oh, no, Georgie, I spy with my Inner Eye," George snorted at that, Fred had almost failed Divination, even with the number of deaths they could dream up between the two of them, "that you're not intending to do anything about this. We can't have you getting cold feet and not acting like you did with Katie Bell. You must be a man of action!"
"Yeah, yeah." George looked up at Fred, who had jumped up onto the desk at that last bit. "I will, at some point, but I think she might need a little time right now. . . And shut it about Katie. That was sixth year!"
"Yes. . .but you are going to do something." Fred stated in a matter-of- fact tone. "Sooner rather than later, I think."
"Oh?" George looked a little put-out at his brother's easy assumptions. Come to think of it, Fred did have that smug look he got on his face when he was plotting something particularly terrible. George was nervous. He didn't like being conspired against, as opposed to doing the conspiring.
"Yes, George," Fred went on, ignoring the look on his brother's face, "this time she won't slip away." And with that, he made a dramatic swooning gesture, falling on the desk. George laughed absently, shoving Fred off the desk and onto the floor.
"Right. Well, Fred Trelawney, the Hogsmeade store won't plan itself. Enough about girls and let's get on with it." And, once again, two redheads settled in over the blueprints. Once again, both had their minds elsewhere, but surprisingly in the same place.
The girl in question was currently occupied with packing, combining that with trying to keep her mother out of her hair. Year after year, Hermione had packed for Hogwarts and her mother usually stepped out of the way and let her get on with it. This year, though, Elizabeth Granger was running around like a demented woman, brandishing hot plates and offering to make curtains like she was possessed. She almost would have had to have been under the spell of some demon, because it was well known throughout the Granger household that Mrs. Granger was a little less than domestic. In fact, twice a week a maid came and tidied their large Victorian abode since Mrs. Granger didn't have time and Hermione was always busy studying. Right now she was waving a set of black Hogwarts robes in Hermione's general direction.
"Hermione, don't you need these?"
"Mother, those are Hogwarts robes. And while they're very lovely robes, they still have the Hogwarts crest on them." Hermione unconsciously fingered the insignia she had worn for seven years. "I'm not ever sure why I still have them. Maybe I should send them to Ginny."
"Oh, darling, do you need new clothes? We can go get some if you do. Do you need anything, anything at all?" Elizabeth Granger's voice held more than a tinge of desperation in it. Hermione supposed it was inevitable, now that she was out of school and leaving for a real job. She'd even have her own flat, provided by the company, and she wouldn't be under the careful (but not always adequate enough) eyes of her professors. The only reason they'd held off on starting the apprenticeship was that she had requested they do so. They'd wanted her there in June, but her requests were usually taken into consideration. She'd told them that she wanted time to prepare and do some research so that she could better perform the duties of her new position. They had kindly agreed to give her the time, which had now dwindled to a day.
"I'm fine. The company is providing a furnished and prepared flat for me. They said all I'd need were my books and clothes and any other personal things. What I don't have, I can transfigure or buy. And since I can wear my regular clothes most of the time, I don't need clothes." Hermione looked at her mother, who was frantically trying to shove just a few more books into a box. "Mother, it's okay."
Taking the priceless volume of potions lore she had gotten from Snape as a surprising parting gift (With the inscription "To the most irritating know- it-all I have been gifted with teaching. Regards, S.S." and left on her bed the last day of the year, when she wouldn't possibly have a chance to thank him other than in a note. Which she had, starting sort of a friendly professional correspondence.) from her mother's tense fingers and setting it on the bed, she wished for about the fiftieth time that her mother were in the office like she was supposed to be. Instead, her well-meaning mum had decided to take the day off to help her only daughter get ready to move. Which was giving Hermione a lovely warm feeling, knowing that her mother cared that much about her. On the other hand, Elizabeth Granger's nervousness was more of a hindering influence than anything. Hermione had debated packing through magic and had discarded the idea, but now it seemed to be a good thought. After all, she was a witch and what good were magical powers if you couldn't use them to make manual labor a little easier? With a wave of her wand and a murmured spell, all of her books were shrinking and packing themselves away neatly. Her clothes were doing much the same and she was sitting back watching the proceedings. She turned to her mother, who had watched her do these things for years, and found that she was crying.
Putting her arms around her mum, she tried desperately to comfort her. "Mother, oh, Mum, don't cry. It's okay. I'll have a phone so you can call me and I can Apparate home anytime and, oh, Mum, stop crying. . ."
"I'm sorry, darling, it's just that you're all grown up and you. . .you don't need me anymore."
"But I'll always need you, Mum. You're not going to become obsolete just because my books aren't kept here anymore. This will always be my room. I just won't be here most of the time. This will always be the place I remember growing up. Remember when I changed the color of the walls by accident in second grade?" After making sure that she had, indeed, coaxed a little laughter out of her at the memory of an untrained witch's powers, Hermione gave her mother one more squeeze and stood up and brushed her palms off, looking around as the boxes holding her possessions magically packed themselves off.
Hermione's mother had also stood up and wiped her eyes. "Let's go out tonight, pumpkin. You, your father and I, we'll have a lovely time. And then tomorrow you can go to that Puddlemere place." Hermione laughed.
"But Mother, we already had a going-away party for me."
"Then we'll have another one."
Hermione wrapped her arms around her mother and they stood there for a long time like that.
8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8
Gah, it just wouldn't come out. Good lord. Anyway, I know, I know, this is crawling along. Something over ten thousand words and no nookie. Not even the hint of nookie. It's just taking a while. Am I too wordy? Anyway, we didn't leave Hermione lonely, though, did we? No, we got a confession out of the whole thing and now Fred knows. *FRED* knows. Heh. And Oliver Wood's at Puddlemere? Eh, eh? *nudges you* It's gonna get gooood. When next we see *them*, George and Hermione will be in Puddlemere.
Thanks thanks thanks to Ali, my fabulous muse, for generally being encouraging. As always, so much love to my reviewers who say nice things to me and add me to your favorite stories lists and all that. And especially to those of you who reviewed *twice*, absolutely tickling me pink. PINK, I tell you! People who say they write for themselves are big fat liars because I know I write for *you*, and not just in the review grubbing sense of the word, though they are, as always, appreciated. If you weren't mentioned above, please note that I still received and read your review and tucked it into my special review folder in my email program and giggled and tutted and thought about what you said. Special thanks to Raine, who pointed out an error that I'm making. It's pretty touch and go, thoughts on that one, so I think I'm going to keep doing it this way for time's sake. Other reviewers, please let me know if you're having trouble reading this.
Okay. Reviewer love out of the way, on with the story. . . Author note at the end, telling you all the things that would spoil it for you if I told you now.
8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8
"all these questions and their answers seemed to change"
-idlewild, "the remote part/scottish fiction"
8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8
George Weasley was, one could say, in a state. In the week or so since he left Hermione in her room, he'd made a few semi-discreet inquiries about what had happened with her, Harry and Ron. He'd managed to piece together the incident last July straight from Harry's mouth (with the aid of a little alcohol back at his and Fred's flat) and Ron had confessed that he'd completely forgotten to owl Hermione back last time she had sent him something and had he seen her lately 'cause he and Harry hadn't? It was amazing what they'd said under the influence of some firewhiskey. The stuff was better than Veritaserum and, consequently, George had heard a lot of things from the boys that surprised him a bit. Now George was still George, but he wasn't thick. He couldn't be, co-owning a business like this and inventing all the products and whatnot. Harry had pulled a snog- and-run on Hermione and Ron was getting clumsy in their correspondence. So really the only conclusion he could come to was that Hermione was, as always, correct about everything she had told him. It was unfortunate, sometimes, that Ron had met up with. . .well, the smartest witch George knew, anyway. Probably the smartest witch anyone knew. Most girls would've been able to ignore what the boys were doing or, at least, not see through it quite so well. He let out a little snort at the thought and was rewarded with his twin brother looking up at him from across the office.
"Problem, brother mine?" Fred, knowing the answer, put his quill down. "And does this have something to do with your sudden desire to spend more time question our younger sibling and his best chum?"
George started tapping the end of his quill against the desk and didn't answer right away. "Well, yeah. Have you noticed Hermione hasn't been around this summer? And when we brought her here she vanished, and it wasn't a mysterious vanishing. She ran away and you hadn't even been near her." Fred raised an eyebrow at him and George continued, a little defensively. "I just wanted to see what had happened. They'd been practically inseparable before then. I was a little curious, I'm only bloody human, Fred." George's voice had risen oddly at the end there.
"You sound like the our former Quidditch captain. Who, woe and despair upon us, can't make it to our little gathering," here Fred wiggled his eyebrows, "tomorrow. Says he has to do an appearance at some big company la-de-dah thing on Sunday afternoon and he's making a mint."
"And that is a shame." George seemed oddly reluctant to say anything else, both on the party they were hosting at their flat this weekend and the issues with the three teenagers. He had noticed Fred looking at him a little oddly since the incident with Hermione last week and wasn't quite sure how to interpret it.
"Hrm, yes, well. Oliver has promised to make it up to us. Seems the weekend after, he's having a party. Asked if we'd be able to make it. And I told him that of course we would." Fred looked over at his twin, noticing the faraway look in his eyes.
"Okay." George was still tapping his quill against the desk, giving Fred the suspicion that he hadn't heard a word.
"Oliver is throwing a party that will feature Hermione Granger jumping naked out of a cake." A-ha, Fred thought, that's what he was looking for. George, apparently, was paying attention now, if the way he accidentally threw his quill across the room was any indication. "George. Tell me it's not true. You and Hermione? I *knew* it. Ever since you went galloping after her."
"No, no, not even. I didn't. . .galoop? Is that a new type of Portkey? I Apparated." George looked at Fred with a scowl on his face. "I'm just worried about her. Harry and Ron have been prats and she's feeling really bad about it. When I went over there to check on her, she was angry. Tell me, twin mine, have you ever seen Hermione Granger really truly angry?"
Fred looked a little perplexed as he thought about it. "Well, no, I don't think I have. Not since I've known her. Our dear Hermy-own-ninny is an expert at the petty bickering and sometimes she and Ron could hold a grudge, but I've never seen her really and truly mad. There was that incident in third year, though. . ." The perplexed look was quickly replaced by a dreamy smile on both of their faces.
"Yeah. Malfoy. The git. Anyway, Fred, I don't feel anything for Hermione except for concern. That is it." George looked down at his desk and pulled a blueprint off of a stack of them. "Come help me with the layout for the Hogsmeade store."
Fred wasn't convinced, but decided to wait his twin brother out. Moving over to the table, he began looking over the documents in question. Twenty minutes passed while they debated various features the building had and tried to see if they really would need to make various architectural changes the designers had suggested. Looking over, Fred noticed that George had a particularly distant look on his face, even while participating in the discussion, and he had a sneaking thought that he knew where his sibling's thoughts really were. Putting down his quill, Fred stared at George until he looked up.
"What? Fred, blueprints, store, re-mem-ber?" Emphasizing the last syllable, George gestured down to the surface of the desk.
Fred looked at him mockingly. "I do. It would seem, however, Forge, that you are not paying attention. I ask again, one more time," here Fred clutched his chest and leaned forward, "what are you not telling your dear brother?"
George looked right back at Fred. "Ron? There isn't anything I'm not telling Ron." Fred looked a bit put out at this and decided to try a different technique.
"Does Hermione know? I mean, I can hardly blame you. She's developed into quite a bird. We should invite her to our soiree." Fred looked slyly at George.
George looked back at Fred. "Don't call her that."
"Ah-ha! So you do like her." Fred looked triumphant and George, at the most, looked annoyed.
"No, it's just that Mum would kill you if she heard you say that about Hermione."
"But it's true, isn't it? Hermione Granger, all grown up. You know, she got the Order of Merlin, First Class." Fred leaned back in his chair.
"Have you gone daft? Of course I know, I was at the ceremony, along with the rest of our entire family, remember? I've already told you, I'm only concerned. So bugger off, Fred. We have work to do."
"No. Not until you admit it. Out loud, to me and yourself and Grati." The bird in question fluffed up a little at hearing his name and George simply looked even more irritated than he had before.
"This is the only way we're going to get something done, then? Fine. I admit that I am a little bit keen on Hermione."
"'A bit keen'?"
"Okay. I am interested in getting to know Hermione better because she's intelligent and attractive and nice." George looked pained at this point, which was a startling counterpoint to the glee on Fred's face.
"Oi! Wait until I tell Angelina!" Fred was actually doing a little dance at this point. "Forge and Hermione, sitting in a tree, s-n-o-g. . ." Fred didn't have time to finish his little ditty because George had jumped out of his chair and started to make his way over to where his twin was dancing a jig. Where had Fred learned to dance a jig, anyway?
"No, no, no, you git, don't tell anyone. I don't want her to find out." George looked a little frantic at the thought. "She'd probably never speak to me again."
"Oh, no, Georgie, I spy with my Inner Eye," George snorted at that, Fred had almost failed Divination, even with the number of deaths they could dream up between the two of them, "that you're not intending to do anything about this. We can't have you getting cold feet and not acting like you did with Katie Bell. You must be a man of action!"
"Yeah, yeah." George looked up at Fred, who had jumped up onto the desk at that last bit. "I will, at some point, but I think she might need a little time right now. . . And shut it about Katie. That was sixth year!"
"Yes. . .but you are going to do something." Fred stated in a matter-of- fact tone. "Sooner rather than later, I think."
"Oh?" George looked a little put-out at his brother's easy assumptions. Come to think of it, Fred did have that smug look he got on his face when he was plotting something particularly terrible. George was nervous. He didn't like being conspired against, as opposed to doing the conspiring.
"Yes, George," Fred went on, ignoring the look on his brother's face, "this time she won't slip away." And with that, he made a dramatic swooning gesture, falling on the desk. George laughed absently, shoving Fred off the desk and onto the floor.
"Right. Well, Fred Trelawney, the Hogsmeade store won't plan itself. Enough about girls and let's get on with it." And, once again, two redheads settled in over the blueprints. Once again, both had their minds elsewhere, but surprisingly in the same place.
The girl in question was currently occupied with packing, combining that with trying to keep her mother out of her hair. Year after year, Hermione had packed for Hogwarts and her mother usually stepped out of the way and let her get on with it. This year, though, Elizabeth Granger was running around like a demented woman, brandishing hot plates and offering to make curtains like she was possessed. She almost would have had to have been under the spell of some demon, because it was well known throughout the Granger household that Mrs. Granger was a little less than domestic. In fact, twice a week a maid came and tidied their large Victorian abode since Mrs. Granger didn't have time and Hermione was always busy studying. Right now she was waving a set of black Hogwarts robes in Hermione's general direction.
"Hermione, don't you need these?"
"Mother, those are Hogwarts robes. And while they're very lovely robes, they still have the Hogwarts crest on them." Hermione unconsciously fingered the insignia she had worn for seven years. "I'm not ever sure why I still have them. Maybe I should send them to Ginny."
"Oh, darling, do you need new clothes? We can go get some if you do. Do you need anything, anything at all?" Elizabeth Granger's voice held more than a tinge of desperation in it. Hermione supposed it was inevitable, now that she was out of school and leaving for a real job. She'd even have her own flat, provided by the company, and she wouldn't be under the careful (but not always adequate enough) eyes of her professors. The only reason they'd held off on starting the apprenticeship was that she had requested they do so. They'd wanted her there in June, but her requests were usually taken into consideration. She'd told them that she wanted time to prepare and do some research so that she could better perform the duties of her new position. They had kindly agreed to give her the time, which had now dwindled to a day.
"I'm fine. The company is providing a furnished and prepared flat for me. They said all I'd need were my books and clothes and any other personal things. What I don't have, I can transfigure or buy. And since I can wear my regular clothes most of the time, I don't need clothes." Hermione looked at her mother, who was frantically trying to shove just a few more books into a box. "Mother, it's okay."
Taking the priceless volume of potions lore she had gotten from Snape as a surprising parting gift (With the inscription "To the most irritating know- it-all I have been gifted with teaching. Regards, S.S." and left on her bed the last day of the year, when she wouldn't possibly have a chance to thank him other than in a note. Which she had, starting sort of a friendly professional correspondence.) from her mother's tense fingers and setting it on the bed, she wished for about the fiftieth time that her mother were in the office like she was supposed to be. Instead, her well-meaning mum had decided to take the day off to help her only daughter get ready to move. Which was giving Hermione a lovely warm feeling, knowing that her mother cared that much about her. On the other hand, Elizabeth Granger's nervousness was more of a hindering influence than anything. Hermione had debated packing through magic and had discarded the idea, but now it seemed to be a good thought. After all, she was a witch and what good were magical powers if you couldn't use them to make manual labor a little easier? With a wave of her wand and a murmured spell, all of her books were shrinking and packing themselves away neatly. Her clothes were doing much the same and she was sitting back watching the proceedings. She turned to her mother, who had watched her do these things for years, and found that she was crying.
Putting her arms around her mum, she tried desperately to comfort her. "Mother, oh, Mum, don't cry. It's okay. I'll have a phone so you can call me and I can Apparate home anytime and, oh, Mum, stop crying. . ."
"I'm sorry, darling, it's just that you're all grown up and you. . .you don't need me anymore."
"But I'll always need you, Mum. You're not going to become obsolete just because my books aren't kept here anymore. This will always be my room. I just won't be here most of the time. This will always be the place I remember growing up. Remember when I changed the color of the walls by accident in second grade?" After making sure that she had, indeed, coaxed a little laughter out of her at the memory of an untrained witch's powers, Hermione gave her mother one more squeeze and stood up and brushed her palms off, looking around as the boxes holding her possessions magically packed themselves off.
Hermione's mother had also stood up and wiped her eyes. "Let's go out tonight, pumpkin. You, your father and I, we'll have a lovely time. And then tomorrow you can go to that Puddlemere place." Hermione laughed.
"But Mother, we already had a going-away party for me."
"Then we'll have another one."
Hermione wrapped her arms around her mother and they stood there for a long time like that.
8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8
Gah, it just wouldn't come out. Good lord. Anyway, I know, I know, this is crawling along. Something over ten thousand words and no nookie. Not even the hint of nookie. It's just taking a while. Am I too wordy? Anyway, we didn't leave Hermione lonely, though, did we? No, we got a confession out of the whole thing and now Fred knows. *FRED* knows. Heh. And Oliver Wood's at Puddlemere? Eh, eh? *nudges you* It's gonna get gooood. When next we see *them*, George and Hermione will be in Puddlemere.