Disclaimer: *sings poorly* Oh, J.K., oh, oh, J.K! *clap* You own Harry,
Harry Potter. *clap* And I do not, so this is not for profit. *clap*
*does funky little dance, knocks over glass, sits down quickly*
If there is a higher being anywhere, they will make this chapter get done in a less excruciating fashion than the last one. In the meantime, as always thanks to Ali for. . .well, being Ali. And for letting me "borrow" her. Thanks to Sneezy Mouse, who is currently writing a fabulous tale entitled In the Rising Consciousness of a Prankster that you should all go read immediately, for letting me borrow her for a pinch, too. Thanks to everyone who reviewed *again*. Seriously. I do a little dance every time you hit that button. No need to, but boy does it make me gleeful. I would thank you all personally, but it'd take forever. Know, though, that I really really love you for it. My boyfriend even recognizes the "review squeal" now. And, last and, yeah, probably least, thanks to Colin Firth for being. . .well, you know. *sighs* *blushes*
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"will I shake this off, pretend it's all okay, that there's someone out there who feels just like me"
-box car racer, "there is"
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The next day dawned warm and bright, not that Hermione noticed. She'd been awake all night, sitting on the roof again, watching the stars move above her. She'd felt a little thrill when the sky to her left started shifting into a softer sort of blue. This was, honestly, one of her favorite things to do and being an early riser (most of the time, anyway, she did appreciate the occasional lay-in as much as the next girl) made it easy. Watching the day begin always held a sort of still magic that she appreciated, both in an emotional and scholastic way. After all, the sunrise was a time when certain spells had to be performed. She had been out all night, thinking about everything. She'd thought about her future, which seemed to be starting today, and remembered her mother's tears. She'd thought about her past, about her Hogwarts years and Harry and Ron. And more importantly, as the sky lightened around her, she realized that she'd survived the summer. She was ready to face all these new things with her customary enthusiasm. She knew the city she was traveling to, she knew the potions the company worked with and she was ready with some ideas she thought they might like to try out. She'd even been 'round to see her flat once. Her bags were packed and she was ready for what was going to happen next. One more breakfast with her parents and she'd be moving out of her childhood home.
She was just beginning to plan how she was going to unpack once she got to Puddlemere when she heard a window open. That would be her father, who always knew when she was out here. About a month ago, he'd come up to see her and they'd talked about the Harry incident and her mother and her fears for the fall. She'd always gotten along with her father better than her mother and often had very cozy chats with him. They'd had more than one conversation up here on the roof, both before and after momentous occasions (after the battle with Voldemort, she'd cried for an hour before she would tell him anything) and on random days. They always made her feel a little better. She turned her head in time to see him clambering out of the eaved window to join her.
"Punkin? What are you doing out here? You haven't been out all night, have you?"
Hermione smiled at her father and briefly considered lying. "Well. . .yes. Yes, I have been. I can't sleep."
"Ah." Silence reigned for a moment and then Edward Granger looked directly at his daughter. "Nervous?"
She paused for a moment, just holding the eye contact. "A little."
"Sweetheart, it's okay to be afraid." Here her father smiled at her a bit and then continued on. "You're moving out. You're really leaving."
Hermione scooted over to where her father was sitting and leaned her head on his shoulder. He put an arm around her shoulder and they sat there for a moment, the sun rising higher and higher above the horizon. He was thinking about the day she was born and she was thinking about today, when she would leave the house she had lived in since that day eighteen years ago, when her parents had brought home their pink-cheeked daughter. This had been her home. Regardless of how much she had grown to love Hogwarts, she felt so comfortable inside her beautiful pale room.
"I know, Daddy. Mother's really upset about it, too. She'll be okay, but you might want to keep any eye on her. I'll be okay. I know the town and the complex I'll be working at and I'll be fine. But Mum's worried. I read about it. It's Empty Nest Syndrome."
He smiled at her statement. "I know, I know. I know you're well prepared for this move and I know that your mother's upset. Just like you know I'll keep an eye on her. Now you were planning on leaving early, right? Your mum's planned a big breakfast, so we'd better go in."
"You're right," Hermione mused absently, "Mother did have that big breakfast planned." She suddenly turned and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, for coming out here and talking to me. I'll miss you. I mean, I'll be able to Apparate here anytime, but. . .it seems like it won't be the same."
"It won't, darling. But we'll manage. I'm so proud of you. So is your mother. Always remember that."
Hermione looked at her father, locking his warm look away in her memory for the next time she was worried. "I know. I love you, Daddy."
"I love you, too. Now go on. Your mother's making waffles just the way you like them. I'll be in a few minutes."
Hermione popped away in the trademark sound of Disapparation, after she took one last look at the now sun-drenched backyard. Her father sat outside for a few minutes, remembering all the conversations they'd had out here. And, frankly, he'd never gotten used to her popping in and out of places or any of the other things she did with that wand of hers. She didn't use it that much at home but she still managed to startle them with it sometimes, he smiled wryly. His little girl, he knew, was a heroine in her world, the world the Grangers had never quite managed to adapt to. It wasn't that they weren't open, it was just that they weren't magical, and, frankly, it wasn't their place. His little girl, however, fit there perfectly. Hell, if he had his story right, she'd saved that world and theirs. For just a moment, Edward Granger wondered what it would be like if she hadn't been astoundingly bright, if she hadn't been a Witch. And, with a sigh, he realized that she just wouldn't be his Hermione.
Hermione of Greek legend, the one they'd named her after, had been left behind. Hermione's father had minored in Greek mythology in school, hoping to balance out the rigid nature of any medical study. Both her mother and father were great loves of Shakespeare's plays, so when they had a girl, they had named her Hermione. It was still ironic, though, that their little Hermione had the bearing of Shakespeare's Hermione, Queen of Sicilia. He had always hoped, through the war she had told them bits and pieces about and the personal disaster that he had gathered was her seventh year, that she avoided the inevitable Shakespearian tragedy. Thusfar he'd been right. As he climbed in through his open bedroom window, he could only hope their luck continued to hold.
Hermione's thoughts were along the same vein throughout breakfast. She'd been incredibly successful in the endeavors she'd pursued. She had to laugh a little at that. She'd worked hard and good things had happened. All the nights she spent in the library while others mocked her, she thought, had actually gotten her somewhere. Sure, Harry was playing Quidditch, but she'd read of some of his exploits. The Harry she had known wouldn't have been happy leading the life he appeared to be mired in. And Ron. . .no, she couldn't be mad at Ron. She'd always known, deep down somewhere, that he was what he is today. He couldn't be blamed for her naïve belief that he would turn out to be something else. She'd managed to keep up a conversation with her parents throughout her musings and blinked in surprise when her father stood up and put his hands on her mother's shoulders and announced that Hermione should probably get dressed to go. Her mother let a single tear slide down her cheek before nodding in agreement.
Hermione looked solemnly at both of her parents before smiling widely at them and then went up to her room to put out the change of clothes she had left out for today. Quickly throwing on the jeans and scarlet tank top (with a small golden lion on the bottom left of the front) she had laid out, she picked up the bag that held all of her reduced boxes and double checked that she had the paper with the default password for her flat tucked into her pocket. Crookshanks was summarily captured on the landing and tucked into his traveling basket and her parents were both at the bottom of the stairs. Hermione let go of the seriousness of the moment and almost laughed at the Hallmark nature of the whole thing. Honestly. Slap a soundtrack over this, something instrumental and syrupy and there it was - Hermione Goes To Puddlemere.
And much to her surprise, a few words later, a million hugs and promises that she'd have a phone installed at her flat *this weekend* and that she would Apparate home for dinner a few times a month and a gentle hug from her father and a tearful more sort of. . .well, clutching from her mother and whoosh, she was gone. Popping out of The Grangers' and into a corner of Puddlemere Square. Fortunately, Hermione had done her research well and quickly found the three-flat building she would be staying in. The door was situated on the left of the building and led to the staircase that had the doors to the flats on the right. She was pleased to see that one of the doorbells read "H. Granger" in a feminine hand. She was just wondering who was behind that when the door opened and two people came out. One, she assumed, was one of the other girls. . .no, women, she thought, who would be living with her. Caitlin and Alison were their names but she wasn't sure which one this was. She was kind of tall, taller than Hermione, with brown hair cut in a layered style that Hermione would've never been able to carry off with her thick hair and rather striking grey eyes. The woman was also dressed in blue jeans and a tank top, which was unremarkable since Hermione was wearing the same thing and it was a warm day. Hermione was quite grateful that Puddlemere was open enough to accept Muggle clothing for casual wear. Hermione turned her eyes to the woman's companion and stopped short, when she realized who it was. The wizarding world, she decided, was far too small.
For the man with her neighbor was none other than Oliver Wood, Quidditch hero and former Gryffindor charmer. He was wearing a navy blue t-shirt with Puddlemere United's gold logo across the chest and he looked almost exactly like he had in his seventh year, when she had seen him regularly for the last time. Hermione was so shocked she almost dropped Crookshanks. Fortunately, she didn't have much time to be stunned, as the girl started talking to her.
"Hi! I'm Caitlin, I live on the first floor, this is my boyfriend, Oliver, you must be Hermione, it's so nice to finally meet you!" The woman was friendly and had an American accent, Hermione observed. That was a surprise. American witches and wizards often thought that some of the traditions of England's magic community were archaic. Which, Hermione would admit, was true sometimes. Consequently, not many of them moved to the British Isles willingly. She must be here studying or getting paid well, Hermione mused.
She smiled a shy sort of smile at Caitlin and Oliver before greeting them. "It's nice to meet you, Caitlin. Oliver, it's been a few years."
"You two know each other?" The girl looked inquisitively between her boyfriend and Hermione.
"Oi, Caitlin, I've told you about Hermione before. When I was telling you about playing Quidditch with Harry. Her, Harry and Ron were great, great friends. Inseparable." He looked at Hermione with that guileless expression he'd always had for a moment, observing her uncomfortable look. "Though that may have changed."
"Erm, well, we're all busy. . ." Hermione trailed off, not wanting to say anything too revealing. Fortunately for her, Caitlin had a little more tact than her boyfriend and jumped in to rescue her.
"Well, maybe we'll see them around. And maybe we won't, Hermione's probably going to be very busy in the next couple weeks. It was nice to meet you, by the way, but we were just on our way out. Oliver has practice this afternoon, but I'll be back. Alison should be home from work when I get here, and I'll introduce you two, okay?" She trailed off as Oliver tugged her arm.
"She might want a little time to relax, darling." He looked at Hermione before continuing.
Hermione thought for a moment. "I'd love to meet her, Caitlin. It'll only take me a few minutes to unpack and it'd be nice to get to know my neighbors, of course. I have some dreadful welcoming banquet to go to tomorrow." She pulled a face at Caitlin as she said the last bit. Caitlin returned a smile twice as bright. Both parties were startled by a plaintive mew from Crookshanks.
"Oh. Looks like someone's impatient. We'll let you go, then. It's wonderful that we'll be able to have a little talk. So often, neighbors don't even know each other's names! Anyway, Ali and I are going to a party tonight, but we'll be in for a few minutes before that. Go settle in, Hermione. I'll Floo you later."
Oliver paused, though, and looked at Hermione. "Welcoming banquet? For Puddlemere Potions?"
She responded with a look of surprise. "Well, yes. I'm apprenticing there. Seems they want to "welcome me properly", which means lots of unnecessary fuss." Her surprise had slid into annoyance at the last part.
"I've been hired to make an appearance there, for some reason. So I'll see you there, Hermione." Oliver shared her annoyed look for a moment before brightening. "But Caitlin and I have to get to lunch, so I'll see you 'round, then." And with a wave and a giggle, the two were gone and Hermione was on her way up to her flat.
She spent the rest of the morning organizing her flat and exploring. It was a lovely space, larger than it looked from the outside and airy. She suspected there were several charms placed within the walls of the flat to make it similar to the tent she had used so many years ago at the Quidditch World Cup. She frowned a little at the reference and looked at the walls. They were white, flat white, and quite plain. She quickly charmed the living room to be a crème color and began unpacking and transfiguring furniture. Following suit for the rest of the house, she kept to a light theme. Hermione had always harbored a not-so-secret love of quiet beauty and her flat carried that through every room, from the soft brown furniture in the living room to the soft orange in the bedroom. She'd chosen that color because it reminded her of the sunrise, to make her feel a little more at home. The kitchen was a happy yellow like her mother's at home and her study was a burgundy color and lined with bookshelves. There was a door from her study that led directly to her lab at Puddlemere, but it was spelled to open only to her, which she appreciated. No pesky commute, she smirked to herself as she left the room.
After every room met Hermione's tastes, she realized that one was missing something - the kitchen was empty. Looking around, she debated for a moment. She could spell her food or cook it. It was actually quite a debate. She leaned up against the counter that separated the food preparation area from the dining nook and wondered about it for about ten minutes. The other ten minutes she spent leaning against her new counter were drained away in thoughts of the last week. Here she was, moved out of her parents' house. She'd been of majority in the wizarding world for a year or so, but this was different sort of independence. And then there had been George Weasley's interest in her. What had brought that about, she mused, and was it good news? He could be an irresponsible prat sometimes, but he was attractive. And he had been the only one to come after her when she stormed out of 3W.
She was, surprisingly, startled out of her reverie about George by an owl swooping in through a window she had opened earlier. She was even more startled when she realized it was Gratiano, the owl who belonged to the object of her musings just now. Irony, she thought, as she took the scroll attached to his ankle.
"Pretty owl, what brings you here today?" She ruffled his feathers like she had last time and he fluffed up happily in response. Giving him a small bowl of water and a few treats, she turned her attention to the missive itself.
Hermy-own-ninny!
I wish to use this opportunity to deeply apologize for my behavior of the past week. I assure you that my brother, George Weasley, was not responsible for that Portkey business at all. So don't be hacked off at him, okay?
And, oi, Hermy, wanna come to our party tonight?
Fred
Oh, dear. Fred was inviting her to a party. Harry and Ron would probably be there. So would George, though. . .which might not be so bad, she reasoned. He was nice and she might as well come out of this with one friendship intact. On the other hand, she did have that banquet tomorrow. She didn't have to stay long, but she did have to make an appearance, and it was her prospective employer. She was still debating it when Gratiano gave her a soft hoot, indicating that he needed to get back.
"Wait a second, this is a big decision. I'm still not sure what I should do." The owl cocked his head at her. "Honestly. Talking to an owl."
Fred,
Apology accepted, but please realize that Portkeying someone out of their house in such a manner is likely to get you seriously hexed next time you try it. As for George's involvement. . .well, I don't believe you, but okay.
Please accept my apology in return that I will not be able to attend your gathering this evening. I have the most dreadful banquet to attend tomorrow for my new employer and must be in excellent condition to do so. In addition, I moved two hours ago. Do allow me some time to relax before you get up to your tricks.
Hermione Granger
And tying her reply to the friendly little owl's leg, she pursed her lips and thought about her indecision. She had actually thought of attending the silly party, which she knew would be filled with alcohol and drinks and people she didn't really fancy spending time with. There was one she might fancy spending some time with, but that was another story. She was being foolish, honestly, she was busy. Nodding her head resolutely, she turned to her earlier decision that she had neglected to make. She retrieved her bag and set out to the shops, where she spent a happy hour engrossed in the wonder that was a wizard grocery store. Most disconcerting was the fact that the produce engaged in tricks of skill to convince you that it was worthy of buying. Hermione watched for a moment before wondering if perhaps they should be convincing the customers that they were too talented to be made into soup. Shaking her head, she bought canned vegetables that day.
Finishing her shopping, she decided that she should go straight home to unload her groceries. She could've charmed them to remain fresh, but it was fun, she had deduced, going through these everyday activities. Besides, she had the horrifying feeling that her life was going to become spectacularly busy once she started working on Monday. But today was Saturday and it was lovely and warm and life was great.
Until she turned the corner leading back to her block and saw a lanky red- haired form unfolding on her bit of front porch. Fred or George, she couldn't tell from this distance, but either one was a bit more than she wanted to deal with right now. She'd just moved in after all, and it seemed like she'd dealt more with the Troublesome Twins in the last week than she had the last two years. It was bizarre, but she found she wasn't really angry about it, for some reason. She really didn't have time to be angry about it. Four years ago she would've thrown a fit and hexed them until they were unrecognizable. Of course, whichever one it was could've been there to see Oliver, who she had gathered spent a lot of time in her neighbor's abode. Either way, she was at her apartment and close enough to see the facial features of the twin on her steps. And he was missing the telltale freckles. Fred, then. This would definitely be trickier than dealing with George. While George had settled down at least a little bit and could be expected to behave roughly half the time, Fred was still trouble in trainers.
"Hermy-own-ninny!" Fred reached out and took her bags. "Let me take those so you can get into your flat. It's bloody awful, walking up the stairs with grocery bags. 'Course, you didn't have carry them at all, you could've charmed them, but okay."
"Erm." She couldn't quite decide what to say, so she decided to retreat into pleasantries. "Thanks, Fred. That's nice of you. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Fred looked perplexed. "Pleasure? But George isn't here. . ."
"Of *your company*, Fred Weasley." Hermione rolled her eyes as they walked up to her flat. Reaching the door, she whispered the password and they walked inside.
Fred glanced around on the way to the kitchen. "Nice place you have here, Hermy. Fairly big for one person. Got any roomies, then?"
Hermione turned and faced Fred. "Yes, well. . .I like it. And it's just me, but I doubt you came to discuss my accommodations, Fred, so let's get to it. What can I do for you?"
"Oh, Hermione, I'm wounded. Can't an old friend stop in for a little chin- wag?" He paused, gauging her reaction. "No, then. Well, onto it, I suppose. I must say that I was quite disappointed to receive the note you sent declining our lovely invitation for this evening." Fred set the bags on the counter and turned to face her. "But I wasn't the one the most disappointed."
"Well, Fred," she mimicked his exaggeratedly polite tone exactly, "I do have an extremely good reason for not attending." Fred made a face at this last part and decided to switch gears.
"Hermy, you have to come. There's going to be fireworks and drinks and lots of people you know. George is going to be there." He said the last bit in a sing-song kind of voice, as if he were teasing her.
"And?" Hermione snapped at him, finally losing her patience. "I can't come, Fred, I have responsibilities tomorrow. Besides, I agreed to meet with the other two people who have flats here."
"They'll both be at the party, Hermy! Caitlin will be there and Ali and Eric are coming, too. Just because Oliver's being a wet robe, that doesn't mean they're going to miss out an all the fun. So why do you want to?" He took on a wheedling tone as he continued. "Besides, you don't have to stay all night and dear George has been moping around so. You don't want him to continue moping around, do you?"
Hermione stood up from where she had stooped to reach a lower cabinet and looked at Fred appraisingly. "Actually, I wonder what George would say if he knew you were here, Fred. Does he know you're begging me to come check on him because of some lies you're telling? Honestly! George and I are just friends and I can't make it to your bloody party for the same reason that Oliver can't, so why don't you get out of my kitchen and let me put away my tomatoes? Or are you going to United's practice fields after this, as well?"
Hermione was incensed that she'd let him get the better of her and had said that word. She was talking like Ron now. These Weasleys, she surmised, were really nothing but trouble lately. Spilling dye on her, barging in on her *repeatedly*, distracting her. . . Distracting her, she mused. Yes. Pondering George Weasley's strange behavior had become a distraction. His brother, right now, wasn't helping her focus much, either. Just how, she wondered, did she manage to get into this awful situation with the Weasley twins showing up on her doorstep seemingly constantly?
"Hermione, I'm not leaving until you say you'll come for. . .an hour. Just a pop, then, ducky, and you can go home. But until you agree and allow me to send an escort, I'm going to be right here." And with that, he boosted himself up and sat down on her counter.
Hermione looked at him for a minute, recognizing that resolute set to his chin that the Weasleys had developed. She had a few options here. One, she could call his bluff and have him sitting on her counter all day. But was he. . .yes, he was digging in his pockets. Right, then, she thought, exhaling deeply, this could become a Situation. The last thing she needed was for her kitchen to explode. Her neighbors would be at this silly gathering, so she decided that was as good a place as any for them to have their little chat. Traitors. Had that nice Caitlin girl been in on this the whole time? She'd have to ask. In the meantime, Fred was looking slyly at her and withdrawing a hand from his robes.
"Fred! Take your hands out of your pockets and leave whatever it is you were about to unleash in there. I will come to your party for an hour and then I will leave. I am busy and have a lot to do today. Some of us just can't throw wild parties and stay up all night." She lifted her nose into the air and waited for him to challenge her.
"And what a sad life that must be. Knew you'd come 'round, Hermy. I'm Flooing Caitlin, so she'll come in and pick you up." Sliding almost gracefully off the counter, Fred grabbed Hermione's hand and bowed over it in a mockery of ancient knights. "Tonight, then, your prince shall be waiting."
With that and before she could object, he left, whistling cheerfully and leaving a confused Hermione standing in his wake. Well, she thought to herself, she'd lost this battle, but she'd win the war. Resolutely continuing to organize her kitchen, she decided that tonight she'd definitely not cooperate like they were hoping. She'd be there, most definitely, only because she had said she would. But she would only be there for an hour and she was, she decided, certainly not wearing lipstick.
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Gawd. This story is going sloooooow, I know. But there's a fun, fun party scene coming up so that's good, right? Besides, admit it, you love prolonging the agony. You like it, don'cha, this waiting? Not that I'm torturing you on purpose, but isn't it satisfying to see these beautifully long updates (today's clocks in at 4,827 and 10 pages) and whatnot? But promise, promise you'll tell me if I'm getting too wordy. I know I've said it before, but I mean it. *sniffles* Just don't lose interest, okay?
If there is a higher being anywhere, they will make this chapter get done in a less excruciating fashion than the last one. In the meantime, as always thanks to Ali for. . .well, being Ali. And for letting me "borrow" her. Thanks to Sneezy Mouse, who is currently writing a fabulous tale entitled In the Rising Consciousness of a Prankster that you should all go read immediately, for letting me borrow her for a pinch, too. Thanks to everyone who reviewed *again*. Seriously. I do a little dance every time you hit that button. No need to, but boy does it make me gleeful. I would thank you all personally, but it'd take forever. Know, though, that I really really love you for it. My boyfriend even recognizes the "review squeal" now. And, last and, yeah, probably least, thanks to Colin Firth for being. . .well, you know. *sighs* *blushes*
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"will I shake this off, pretend it's all okay, that there's someone out there who feels just like me"
-box car racer, "there is"
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The next day dawned warm and bright, not that Hermione noticed. She'd been awake all night, sitting on the roof again, watching the stars move above her. She'd felt a little thrill when the sky to her left started shifting into a softer sort of blue. This was, honestly, one of her favorite things to do and being an early riser (most of the time, anyway, she did appreciate the occasional lay-in as much as the next girl) made it easy. Watching the day begin always held a sort of still magic that she appreciated, both in an emotional and scholastic way. After all, the sunrise was a time when certain spells had to be performed. She had been out all night, thinking about everything. She'd thought about her future, which seemed to be starting today, and remembered her mother's tears. She'd thought about her past, about her Hogwarts years and Harry and Ron. And more importantly, as the sky lightened around her, she realized that she'd survived the summer. She was ready to face all these new things with her customary enthusiasm. She knew the city she was traveling to, she knew the potions the company worked with and she was ready with some ideas she thought they might like to try out. She'd even been 'round to see her flat once. Her bags were packed and she was ready for what was going to happen next. One more breakfast with her parents and she'd be moving out of her childhood home.
She was just beginning to plan how she was going to unpack once she got to Puddlemere when she heard a window open. That would be her father, who always knew when she was out here. About a month ago, he'd come up to see her and they'd talked about the Harry incident and her mother and her fears for the fall. She'd always gotten along with her father better than her mother and often had very cozy chats with him. They'd had more than one conversation up here on the roof, both before and after momentous occasions (after the battle with Voldemort, she'd cried for an hour before she would tell him anything) and on random days. They always made her feel a little better. She turned her head in time to see him clambering out of the eaved window to join her.
"Punkin? What are you doing out here? You haven't been out all night, have you?"
Hermione smiled at her father and briefly considered lying. "Well. . .yes. Yes, I have been. I can't sleep."
"Ah." Silence reigned for a moment and then Edward Granger looked directly at his daughter. "Nervous?"
She paused for a moment, just holding the eye contact. "A little."
"Sweetheart, it's okay to be afraid." Here her father smiled at her a bit and then continued on. "You're moving out. You're really leaving."
Hermione scooted over to where her father was sitting and leaned her head on his shoulder. He put an arm around her shoulder and they sat there for a moment, the sun rising higher and higher above the horizon. He was thinking about the day she was born and she was thinking about today, when she would leave the house she had lived in since that day eighteen years ago, when her parents had brought home their pink-cheeked daughter. This had been her home. Regardless of how much she had grown to love Hogwarts, she felt so comfortable inside her beautiful pale room.
"I know, Daddy. Mother's really upset about it, too. She'll be okay, but you might want to keep any eye on her. I'll be okay. I know the town and the complex I'll be working at and I'll be fine. But Mum's worried. I read about it. It's Empty Nest Syndrome."
He smiled at her statement. "I know, I know. I know you're well prepared for this move and I know that your mother's upset. Just like you know I'll keep an eye on her. Now you were planning on leaving early, right? Your mum's planned a big breakfast, so we'd better go in."
"You're right," Hermione mused absently, "Mother did have that big breakfast planned." She suddenly turned and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, for coming out here and talking to me. I'll miss you. I mean, I'll be able to Apparate here anytime, but. . .it seems like it won't be the same."
"It won't, darling. But we'll manage. I'm so proud of you. So is your mother. Always remember that."
Hermione looked at her father, locking his warm look away in her memory for the next time she was worried. "I know. I love you, Daddy."
"I love you, too. Now go on. Your mother's making waffles just the way you like them. I'll be in a few minutes."
Hermione popped away in the trademark sound of Disapparation, after she took one last look at the now sun-drenched backyard. Her father sat outside for a few minutes, remembering all the conversations they'd had out here. And, frankly, he'd never gotten used to her popping in and out of places or any of the other things she did with that wand of hers. She didn't use it that much at home but she still managed to startle them with it sometimes, he smiled wryly. His little girl, he knew, was a heroine in her world, the world the Grangers had never quite managed to adapt to. It wasn't that they weren't open, it was just that they weren't magical, and, frankly, it wasn't their place. His little girl, however, fit there perfectly. Hell, if he had his story right, she'd saved that world and theirs. For just a moment, Edward Granger wondered what it would be like if she hadn't been astoundingly bright, if she hadn't been a Witch. And, with a sigh, he realized that she just wouldn't be his Hermione.
Hermione of Greek legend, the one they'd named her after, had been left behind. Hermione's father had minored in Greek mythology in school, hoping to balance out the rigid nature of any medical study. Both her mother and father were great loves of Shakespeare's plays, so when they had a girl, they had named her Hermione. It was still ironic, though, that their little Hermione had the bearing of Shakespeare's Hermione, Queen of Sicilia. He had always hoped, through the war she had told them bits and pieces about and the personal disaster that he had gathered was her seventh year, that she avoided the inevitable Shakespearian tragedy. Thusfar he'd been right. As he climbed in through his open bedroom window, he could only hope their luck continued to hold.
Hermione's thoughts were along the same vein throughout breakfast. She'd been incredibly successful in the endeavors she'd pursued. She had to laugh a little at that. She'd worked hard and good things had happened. All the nights she spent in the library while others mocked her, she thought, had actually gotten her somewhere. Sure, Harry was playing Quidditch, but she'd read of some of his exploits. The Harry she had known wouldn't have been happy leading the life he appeared to be mired in. And Ron. . .no, she couldn't be mad at Ron. She'd always known, deep down somewhere, that he was what he is today. He couldn't be blamed for her naïve belief that he would turn out to be something else. She'd managed to keep up a conversation with her parents throughout her musings and blinked in surprise when her father stood up and put his hands on her mother's shoulders and announced that Hermione should probably get dressed to go. Her mother let a single tear slide down her cheek before nodding in agreement.
Hermione looked solemnly at both of her parents before smiling widely at them and then went up to her room to put out the change of clothes she had left out for today. Quickly throwing on the jeans and scarlet tank top (with a small golden lion on the bottom left of the front) she had laid out, she picked up the bag that held all of her reduced boxes and double checked that she had the paper with the default password for her flat tucked into her pocket. Crookshanks was summarily captured on the landing and tucked into his traveling basket and her parents were both at the bottom of the stairs. Hermione let go of the seriousness of the moment and almost laughed at the Hallmark nature of the whole thing. Honestly. Slap a soundtrack over this, something instrumental and syrupy and there it was - Hermione Goes To Puddlemere.
And much to her surprise, a few words later, a million hugs and promises that she'd have a phone installed at her flat *this weekend* and that she would Apparate home for dinner a few times a month and a gentle hug from her father and a tearful more sort of. . .well, clutching from her mother and whoosh, she was gone. Popping out of The Grangers' and into a corner of Puddlemere Square. Fortunately, Hermione had done her research well and quickly found the three-flat building she would be staying in. The door was situated on the left of the building and led to the staircase that had the doors to the flats on the right. She was pleased to see that one of the doorbells read "H. Granger" in a feminine hand. She was just wondering who was behind that when the door opened and two people came out. One, she assumed, was one of the other girls. . .no, women, she thought, who would be living with her. Caitlin and Alison were their names but she wasn't sure which one this was. She was kind of tall, taller than Hermione, with brown hair cut in a layered style that Hermione would've never been able to carry off with her thick hair and rather striking grey eyes. The woman was also dressed in blue jeans and a tank top, which was unremarkable since Hermione was wearing the same thing and it was a warm day. Hermione was quite grateful that Puddlemere was open enough to accept Muggle clothing for casual wear. Hermione turned her eyes to the woman's companion and stopped short, when she realized who it was. The wizarding world, she decided, was far too small.
For the man with her neighbor was none other than Oliver Wood, Quidditch hero and former Gryffindor charmer. He was wearing a navy blue t-shirt with Puddlemere United's gold logo across the chest and he looked almost exactly like he had in his seventh year, when she had seen him regularly for the last time. Hermione was so shocked she almost dropped Crookshanks. Fortunately, she didn't have much time to be stunned, as the girl started talking to her.
"Hi! I'm Caitlin, I live on the first floor, this is my boyfriend, Oliver, you must be Hermione, it's so nice to finally meet you!" The woman was friendly and had an American accent, Hermione observed. That was a surprise. American witches and wizards often thought that some of the traditions of England's magic community were archaic. Which, Hermione would admit, was true sometimes. Consequently, not many of them moved to the British Isles willingly. She must be here studying or getting paid well, Hermione mused.
She smiled a shy sort of smile at Caitlin and Oliver before greeting them. "It's nice to meet you, Caitlin. Oliver, it's been a few years."
"You two know each other?" The girl looked inquisitively between her boyfriend and Hermione.
"Oi, Caitlin, I've told you about Hermione before. When I was telling you about playing Quidditch with Harry. Her, Harry and Ron were great, great friends. Inseparable." He looked at Hermione with that guileless expression he'd always had for a moment, observing her uncomfortable look. "Though that may have changed."
"Erm, well, we're all busy. . ." Hermione trailed off, not wanting to say anything too revealing. Fortunately for her, Caitlin had a little more tact than her boyfriend and jumped in to rescue her.
"Well, maybe we'll see them around. And maybe we won't, Hermione's probably going to be very busy in the next couple weeks. It was nice to meet you, by the way, but we were just on our way out. Oliver has practice this afternoon, but I'll be back. Alison should be home from work when I get here, and I'll introduce you two, okay?" She trailed off as Oliver tugged her arm.
"She might want a little time to relax, darling." He looked at Hermione before continuing.
Hermione thought for a moment. "I'd love to meet her, Caitlin. It'll only take me a few minutes to unpack and it'd be nice to get to know my neighbors, of course. I have some dreadful welcoming banquet to go to tomorrow." She pulled a face at Caitlin as she said the last bit. Caitlin returned a smile twice as bright. Both parties were startled by a plaintive mew from Crookshanks.
"Oh. Looks like someone's impatient. We'll let you go, then. It's wonderful that we'll be able to have a little talk. So often, neighbors don't even know each other's names! Anyway, Ali and I are going to a party tonight, but we'll be in for a few minutes before that. Go settle in, Hermione. I'll Floo you later."
Oliver paused, though, and looked at Hermione. "Welcoming banquet? For Puddlemere Potions?"
She responded with a look of surprise. "Well, yes. I'm apprenticing there. Seems they want to "welcome me properly", which means lots of unnecessary fuss." Her surprise had slid into annoyance at the last part.
"I've been hired to make an appearance there, for some reason. So I'll see you there, Hermione." Oliver shared her annoyed look for a moment before brightening. "But Caitlin and I have to get to lunch, so I'll see you 'round, then." And with a wave and a giggle, the two were gone and Hermione was on her way up to her flat.
She spent the rest of the morning organizing her flat and exploring. It was a lovely space, larger than it looked from the outside and airy. She suspected there were several charms placed within the walls of the flat to make it similar to the tent she had used so many years ago at the Quidditch World Cup. She frowned a little at the reference and looked at the walls. They were white, flat white, and quite plain. She quickly charmed the living room to be a crème color and began unpacking and transfiguring furniture. Following suit for the rest of the house, she kept to a light theme. Hermione had always harbored a not-so-secret love of quiet beauty and her flat carried that through every room, from the soft brown furniture in the living room to the soft orange in the bedroom. She'd chosen that color because it reminded her of the sunrise, to make her feel a little more at home. The kitchen was a happy yellow like her mother's at home and her study was a burgundy color and lined with bookshelves. There was a door from her study that led directly to her lab at Puddlemere, but it was spelled to open only to her, which she appreciated. No pesky commute, she smirked to herself as she left the room.
After every room met Hermione's tastes, she realized that one was missing something - the kitchen was empty. Looking around, she debated for a moment. She could spell her food or cook it. It was actually quite a debate. She leaned up against the counter that separated the food preparation area from the dining nook and wondered about it for about ten minutes. The other ten minutes she spent leaning against her new counter were drained away in thoughts of the last week. Here she was, moved out of her parents' house. She'd been of majority in the wizarding world for a year or so, but this was different sort of independence. And then there had been George Weasley's interest in her. What had brought that about, she mused, and was it good news? He could be an irresponsible prat sometimes, but he was attractive. And he had been the only one to come after her when she stormed out of 3W.
She was, surprisingly, startled out of her reverie about George by an owl swooping in through a window she had opened earlier. She was even more startled when she realized it was Gratiano, the owl who belonged to the object of her musings just now. Irony, she thought, as she took the scroll attached to his ankle.
"Pretty owl, what brings you here today?" She ruffled his feathers like she had last time and he fluffed up happily in response. Giving him a small bowl of water and a few treats, she turned her attention to the missive itself.
Hermy-own-ninny!
I wish to use this opportunity to deeply apologize for my behavior of the past week. I assure you that my brother, George Weasley, was not responsible for that Portkey business at all. So don't be hacked off at him, okay?
And, oi, Hermy, wanna come to our party tonight?
Fred
Oh, dear. Fred was inviting her to a party. Harry and Ron would probably be there. So would George, though. . .which might not be so bad, she reasoned. He was nice and she might as well come out of this with one friendship intact. On the other hand, she did have that banquet tomorrow. She didn't have to stay long, but she did have to make an appearance, and it was her prospective employer. She was still debating it when Gratiano gave her a soft hoot, indicating that he needed to get back.
"Wait a second, this is a big decision. I'm still not sure what I should do." The owl cocked his head at her. "Honestly. Talking to an owl."
Fred,
Apology accepted, but please realize that Portkeying someone out of their house in such a manner is likely to get you seriously hexed next time you try it. As for George's involvement. . .well, I don't believe you, but okay.
Please accept my apology in return that I will not be able to attend your gathering this evening. I have the most dreadful banquet to attend tomorrow for my new employer and must be in excellent condition to do so. In addition, I moved two hours ago. Do allow me some time to relax before you get up to your tricks.
Hermione Granger
And tying her reply to the friendly little owl's leg, she pursed her lips and thought about her indecision. She had actually thought of attending the silly party, which she knew would be filled with alcohol and drinks and people she didn't really fancy spending time with. There was one she might fancy spending some time with, but that was another story. She was being foolish, honestly, she was busy. Nodding her head resolutely, she turned to her earlier decision that she had neglected to make. She retrieved her bag and set out to the shops, where she spent a happy hour engrossed in the wonder that was a wizard grocery store. Most disconcerting was the fact that the produce engaged in tricks of skill to convince you that it was worthy of buying. Hermione watched for a moment before wondering if perhaps they should be convincing the customers that they were too talented to be made into soup. Shaking her head, she bought canned vegetables that day.
Finishing her shopping, she decided that she should go straight home to unload her groceries. She could've charmed them to remain fresh, but it was fun, she had deduced, going through these everyday activities. Besides, she had the horrifying feeling that her life was going to become spectacularly busy once she started working on Monday. But today was Saturday and it was lovely and warm and life was great.
Until she turned the corner leading back to her block and saw a lanky red- haired form unfolding on her bit of front porch. Fred or George, she couldn't tell from this distance, but either one was a bit more than she wanted to deal with right now. She'd just moved in after all, and it seemed like she'd dealt more with the Troublesome Twins in the last week than she had the last two years. It was bizarre, but she found she wasn't really angry about it, for some reason. She really didn't have time to be angry about it. Four years ago she would've thrown a fit and hexed them until they were unrecognizable. Of course, whichever one it was could've been there to see Oliver, who she had gathered spent a lot of time in her neighbor's abode. Either way, she was at her apartment and close enough to see the facial features of the twin on her steps. And he was missing the telltale freckles. Fred, then. This would definitely be trickier than dealing with George. While George had settled down at least a little bit and could be expected to behave roughly half the time, Fred was still trouble in trainers.
"Hermy-own-ninny!" Fred reached out and took her bags. "Let me take those so you can get into your flat. It's bloody awful, walking up the stairs with grocery bags. 'Course, you didn't have carry them at all, you could've charmed them, but okay."
"Erm." She couldn't quite decide what to say, so she decided to retreat into pleasantries. "Thanks, Fred. That's nice of you. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Fred looked perplexed. "Pleasure? But George isn't here. . ."
"Of *your company*, Fred Weasley." Hermione rolled her eyes as they walked up to her flat. Reaching the door, she whispered the password and they walked inside.
Fred glanced around on the way to the kitchen. "Nice place you have here, Hermy. Fairly big for one person. Got any roomies, then?"
Hermione turned and faced Fred. "Yes, well. . .I like it. And it's just me, but I doubt you came to discuss my accommodations, Fred, so let's get to it. What can I do for you?"
"Oh, Hermione, I'm wounded. Can't an old friend stop in for a little chin- wag?" He paused, gauging her reaction. "No, then. Well, onto it, I suppose. I must say that I was quite disappointed to receive the note you sent declining our lovely invitation for this evening." Fred set the bags on the counter and turned to face her. "But I wasn't the one the most disappointed."
"Well, Fred," she mimicked his exaggeratedly polite tone exactly, "I do have an extremely good reason for not attending." Fred made a face at this last part and decided to switch gears.
"Hermy, you have to come. There's going to be fireworks and drinks and lots of people you know. George is going to be there." He said the last bit in a sing-song kind of voice, as if he were teasing her.
"And?" Hermione snapped at him, finally losing her patience. "I can't come, Fred, I have responsibilities tomorrow. Besides, I agreed to meet with the other two people who have flats here."
"They'll both be at the party, Hermy! Caitlin will be there and Ali and Eric are coming, too. Just because Oliver's being a wet robe, that doesn't mean they're going to miss out an all the fun. So why do you want to?" He took on a wheedling tone as he continued. "Besides, you don't have to stay all night and dear George has been moping around so. You don't want him to continue moping around, do you?"
Hermione stood up from where she had stooped to reach a lower cabinet and looked at Fred appraisingly. "Actually, I wonder what George would say if he knew you were here, Fred. Does he know you're begging me to come check on him because of some lies you're telling? Honestly! George and I are just friends and I can't make it to your bloody party for the same reason that Oliver can't, so why don't you get out of my kitchen and let me put away my tomatoes? Or are you going to United's practice fields after this, as well?"
Hermione was incensed that she'd let him get the better of her and had said that word. She was talking like Ron now. These Weasleys, she surmised, were really nothing but trouble lately. Spilling dye on her, barging in on her *repeatedly*, distracting her. . . Distracting her, she mused. Yes. Pondering George Weasley's strange behavior had become a distraction. His brother, right now, wasn't helping her focus much, either. Just how, she wondered, did she manage to get into this awful situation with the Weasley twins showing up on her doorstep seemingly constantly?
"Hermione, I'm not leaving until you say you'll come for. . .an hour. Just a pop, then, ducky, and you can go home. But until you agree and allow me to send an escort, I'm going to be right here." And with that, he boosted himself up and sat down on her counter.
Hermione looked at him for a minute, recognizing that resolute set to his chin that the Weasleys had developed. She had a few options here. One, she could call his bluff and have him sitting on her counter all day. But was he. . .yes, he was digging in his pockets. Right, then, she thought, exhaling deeply, this could become a Situation. The last thing she needed was for her kitchen to explode. Her neighbors would be at this silly gathering, so she decided that was as good a place as any for them to have their little chat. Traitors. Had that nice Caitlin girl been in on this the whole time? She'd have to ask. In the meantime, Fred was looking slyly at her and withdrawing a hand from his robes.
"Fred! Take your hands out of your pockets and leave whatever it is you were about to unleash in there. I will come to your party for an hour and then I will leave. I am busy and have a lot to do today. Some of us just can't throw wild parties and stay up all night." She lifted her nose into the air and waited for him to challenge her.
"And what a sad life that must be. Knew you'd come 'round, Hermy. I'm Flooing Caitlin, so she'll come in and pick you up." Sliding almost gracefully off the counter, Fred grabbed Hermione's hand and bowed over it in a mockery of ancient knights. "Tonight, then, your prince shall be waiting."
With that and before she could object, he left, whistling cheerfully and leaving a confused Hermione standing in his wake. Well, she thought to herself, she'd lost this battle, but she'd win the war. Resolutely continuing to organize her kitchen, she decided that tonight she'd definitely not cooperate like they were hoping. She'd be there, most definitely, only because she had said she would. But she would only be there for an hour and she was, she decided, certainly not wearing lipstick.
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Gawd. This story is going sloooooow, I know. But there's a fun, fun party scene coming up so that's good, right? Besides, admit it, you love prolonging the agony. You like it, don'cha, this waiting? Not that I'm torturing you on purpose, but isn't it satisfying to see these beautifully long updates (today's clocks in at 4,827 and 10 pages) and whatnot? But promise, promise you'll tell me if I'm getting too wordy. I know I've said it before, but I mean it. *sniffles* Just don't lose interest, okay?