Disclaimer: I own Harry Potter. My name is JK Rowling. I do not go to school. I am a millionare. And... I'm posting a story on Riiight. No JK ness here. Don't own it.

Sitting on her bed, Hermionie carefully unfolded the parchment that was attached to the owl's leg. Crookshanks was settled on the mass of towels he called his bed; the unconscious bird was in Hermionie's lap. Immediately, the girl recognized Ron's messy scrawl. Her heart fluttered for a moment, but it went nearly unnoticed in her haste to read the letter.

Hermionie, guess what? DAD GOT THE TICKETS! You're coming, right? It's Ireland vs. Bulgaria, Monday night. Mum said you can come over, probably Saturday afternoon, since the game is on Monday. Write back with Pig -

Hermionie glanced at the fuzzy creature in her lap. It didn't seem like a 'Pig' to her, but if that was the way Ron's mind worked, then Hermionie wasn't going to question it. She stroked the owl and continued reading.

- and tell when you're coming over. Harry is coming Sunday if the Muggles let him. And if they don't, then we'll have to fetch him. Otherwise, things over here are pretty boring, if you don't count the occasional Percy yelling at the twins because they've turned him into a bird or made his reports disappear...

Oh, Ginny says hello. She asked me to write that. And don't give Pig any owl treats. They make him more hyper than he is.

See you soon,

Ron

Hermionie folded the letter back up and tossed it onto her desk with a flick of her wrist. Carefully picking up Pig, the girl walked into the hall, then the kitchen, where her mother was baking. The scent that assaulted her nose smelt vaguely of peanut butter mixed with sweetener - apparently, mum was attempting to make a cookie that was not only sugar-free but tasted good, as well. The last few attempts hadn't turned out very fine.

Mind back on the letter she had gotten, Hermionie went up to her mother and waited until there wasn't any chance that an egg wouldn't go flying in her face or something of the sort. Seeing the opportunity, Hermionie went to stand next to her mother and held the mixing bowl for her - one handed, of course, for Pig was still in her left.

"Thanks," said her mum absentmindedly, as she turned her face back to the cook book next to her. Hermionie took a deep breath, let it out, and waited until her mother's attention was back on the stirring.

"Mum?"

Mrs. Granger turned to her daughter, still stirring. "Yes, 'Mionie?"

"I was wondering - Do you remember how I was telling you about the Quidditch World Cup?" Hermionie waited a few moments as her mother stopped stirring and stared at the wall. After a second, Mrs. Granger nodded.

"Has your friend... Ron?" Hermionie nodded, prompting her mother. "Has Ron said if he had gotten the tickets?"

Hermionie smiled and nodded again. "Yes. They're for Monday. He just sent me a letter -"

"Is that owl alright, by the way?" Hermionie sighed, then held up the lump of feathers in her left hand.

"He ran into the door."

"Oh. Energetic little guy, isn't he? Here," she grabbed a towel and wadded it up, then put it on the counter. "Put him on this. That way you can help me shape these cookies." Hermionie obliged and set Pig on the towel, then continued.

"Anyway, Ron just sent me a letter. He said I could come over Saturday; Harry is coming Sunday, and they probably don't want the both of us coming on the same day." Hermionie took some of the dough and shaped it into a ball. "Is... is that alright?" The bushy haired girl frowned as she stared at her mother, who had turned suddenly silent.

A minute or so passed, in which no one spoke: the atmosphere of the kitchen had gone from warm and inviting to oppressive... or maybe it was just Hermionie's nerves getting to her. One couldn't be sure. In any case, the girl was glad that her thoughts could shift to the just-waking owl on the counter.

Pig opened his bleary eyes and looked around. Hermionie thought he looked like a kitten, which reminded her of Crookshanks. Both Pig and Crookshanks reminded her of Ron in the train compartment on the way home, and how Ron had gotten Crookshanks' approval of Pig. Thinking of Ron (besides making her heart beat a little faster for some unknown reason) made her think of Ron's appetite; this made her think of the cookie dough she held in her hand. Putting the dough down reminded her of why she had come into the kitchen in the first place. And thinking of the kitchen forced her into the nervous silence, in which she was unsure of how her mother would handle her going to Ron's house on such short notice.

"Well, you'd better go send that owl back to the Weasleys telling them that you'll be there Saturday afternoon, shouldn't you?" Hermionie looked up happily. Her mother was looking at Pig, but then glanced at her daughter. She smiled after seeing the look on her girl's face. "Run along, now, and you can help me bake later."

"Thank you!" cried Hermionie; she flung her arms around her mom in a sudden moment of affection. Surprised at her normally quiet daughter's action, Mrs. Granger quietly wrapped her arms around her child and put her head into the bushy curls. Hermionie pulled back and started running out of the kitchen, but promptly stopped, turned around, ran back to the counter, grabbed Pig, and then ran off again.

Mrs. Granger shook her head as she watched the bobbing head of her daughter quickly vanish into her room. Turning back to the cookies, the woman shook her head in wonder. Ever since the girl had come back after her first year at that school, she had started opening up. Now...

"Hermionie, you're growing up so fast..." she murmured to herself. She turned to look at the hallway again. For some reason, the mother had the strangest feeling that this was the last time she would see her daughter as the girl she was...

Somehow, in the next year, her Hermionie was going to grow up, and there was nothing the she could do about it.

"Hermionie, are you packed? You're expected at Ron's in ten minutes!" Mr. Granger stood at the edge of the bedroom hallway, dressed and ready to leave just after he saw his daughter to the floo. Already, as he stood here, he had seen Hermionie fly past him six times, searching for some book, or a sheaf of notes, or some other thing that was hardly necessary. 'Women,' thought the man with a smile and a shake of his head

"I can't find Crookshanks, Dad!" Hermionie, however, was far from optimistic. She had thrown herself into a near panic ever since she had woken up this morning - Surely she had packed this? And her trunk was thrown open, all of the contents pulled out, when she realized it was the first thing she had put in. Then she remembered that she had borrowed a book from Lavander last year, and spent at least fifteen minutes searching throughout the house before she realized that her mother had put it on the bed for her. Then, she realized that she didn't need that sheaf of parchment that she had put in last night; out came everything, then back in as she pulled out the faulty papers.

Now, when she finally felt ready, that ruddy cat had to go hide himself in some place that she wouldn't find until he felt like it, and it was driving her absoloutly mad, because she couldn't leave without her cat, even though he hated traveling by floo...

"Arugh!" With that final cry of frustration, she threw herself onto her trunk and sat there, stubbornly unmoving. Why she felt that sitting on her trunk and therefore probably causing herself to be late, which was her own problem, felt so like a triumph was beyond her mind at the moment. Indeed, all she could think of how she hated that cat sometimes, how Ron was always right about him, and how she had never listened. If she had been able to detatch herself and look at her thoughts, Hermionie would have realized how close to an emotional breakdown she was. But since she couldn't, she sulked instead.

Crookshanks was a very smart cat, by all means. He knew that coming to his Hermy right now would mean no supper for such a long time. But he also remembered the red-haired woman who always fed him the best food, and apparently, to that woman's house was where they would be traveling, he didn't want to miss out on this trip, either. What a to-do, what a to-do, thought the cat sadly.

Deciding that he could get supper from the nice woman, even if Hermy didn't want him to, Crookshanks decided to make his grand apperance. Leaping gracefully as only a cat can do, he found himself on the counter in the kitchen. Seeing fresh-baked cookies just a few steps away, the cat took one in his mouth for Hermy, in hopes of a peace offering. He then trotted down the hallway, past Hermy's father, and into Hermy's den.

What Crookshanks didn't know was that his Hermy was not paying any attention her door and was, rather, off in her own little world sulking. Seeing this put the cat's plans out of action for a moment, until he thought up a better one then before - being cute. His Hermy always loved it when he was cute. Even though there was nothing more that Crookshanks despised than being - ugh - cute, he would suffer through his pain, for his Hermy.

Hermionie jerked when she felt something warm against her jean leg. Looking down, she saw nothing other than her cat. He was rubbing against her ankle, nudging her foot with his head, purring, and acting as if he were saying, "Look at me - I'm cute and cuddly and I know it." He turned his squashed face up to her, and her heart mealted into a gooy mush like the cat food she fed him. Hermioinie gave a little smile, picked him up, and put her face in his fur.

Crookshanks, after allowing this to go on as long as he could, struggled for a moment. When Hermionie let him go, he jumped down, picked up the cookie, stood on his hind legs, and placed it on her lap. He stayed there and mew-ed once. Taking this as a signal, the girl slowly picked up the cookie, broke it in half, and nibbled. Not half bad. Actually, pretty good. Mind working better now that she was back to her normal self, she smiled and petted her cat. "Thanks, Crookshanks." The cat mew-ed again.

"Hermionie, it's one o'clock! You'd better get over there," her father called from the end of the hall.

Standing, Hermionie picked up Crookshanks and put him in his carrier, followed by the half-eaten cookie. "Coming!" She grabbed the handle of her trunk and wheeled it out of her room, then turned, looked in one last time, and flicked off the lights. Making sure her wand was in her front pocket where she had put it last, the girl headed off into the den.

Her parents were standing there, waiting for her. "Have you got everything?" her mother asked as she came forward.

Hermionie nodded. "I've spent the last hour making sure, mum."

Mrs. Granger smiled. She stood there, looking at her daughter for a moment, then grabbed her in a feirce embrace. "I love you, honey. Don't forget that."

The girl could hear how much her mother meant those words. Tears stung her eyes and she grabbed her mum just as feircely. "I love you, too." They pulled apart after a moment, and stood at arm's length.

"Promise you'll write whenever you can?"

"Of course I will."

Her father picked up her trunk and carrier and set them next to the fireplace. Turning, he smiled at his only daughter and gave her a quick hug. "Take care, sweetie. Be good and don't get into too much trouble." Hermionie smiled at her father, then at her mother as she said, "Yes. I don't want a letter from the Headmaster saying that you were Petrified or something of the sort..."

Now Hermionie was grinning broadly. "I promise I won't get Petrified or something of the sort." The family stood there for a few moments, when Mr. Granger's watch beeped once. Definately the time to get going - he set his watch ten minutes fast, that ment that it was five past one. Hugging each of her parents once more and giving a final promise to write often, Hermionie threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace.

Her father helped her get her trunk into the green-glowing hearth, and she picked up Crookshank's carrier with the arm that was not holding the trunk's handle. Smiling at her parents one last time, she shouted clearly, "The Burrow!" and was gone in a whirl of flames.

It was all a whirl of color and soot and fire; the girl quickly closed her eyes and pulled her elbows closer to her body. Crookshanks was hissing and tumbling about in the carrier, and Hermionie was afraid that she would loose her grip on the handle. The spinning was going faster and faster, now: if it weren't magicked, she would probably have fallen over; instead, she was hanging onto the two things in her hands for dear life.

Presently, she found she was slowing down - and quickly loosing what little balance she had. The second the world stopped spinning she toppled over and the carrier flew out of her hands. Her hold on the trunk had been just about non-existant when she had gotten into the Weasly hearth - now, it was on top of her as she lay prostrate on the floor.

"Ow." It came out as a muffed sound, since her face was on its side and smushed between the floor and some unknown object that seemed to have fallen on her when she ran into the something that was making her head throb. It felt warm, whatever it was...

The warm object on her face hooted once, and Hermionie couldn't help the shreik that came after. Immediatly, there was a scraping of benches above her. "Oh, hellu there. You must be Hermionie." The voice was warm, but strange. Immediatly the owl on her face was removed, and she was allowed the ability to see the speaker - or rather, his shoes. They walked away, but not before she recognised that they were made of dragon hide. Slowly lifting her head, Hermionie looked over to the stranger and saw that he was, indeed, a red-head... and a rather handsome one, at that. Either Bill or Charlie, she thought to herself. Taking in the tied-back hair, fang earring, and punk-rocker type clothes, Hermionie deduced that it was Bill, the curse breaker who worked in Egypt and at Gringotts.

Bill turned from Errol's stand (Errol was laying there, barely moving) and smiled at Hermionie. She blushed at her predicament, and at the attention she was receiving from the good looking - Oh, stop it, she told herself. It's Ron's brother! Bill grabbed the handle of the trunk and heaved it easily off Hermionie, then reached down for her hand. Taking it gladly, Hermionie pulled herself off the floor.

"There you go. Bit of a rough landing, first time around... I take it this was your first time flooing?" Hermionie blushed and ducked her head.

"Third, actually."

"Ah." Hermionie looked up at him again - he was looking out the window. She followed his gaze to a bright green lawn, on which quite a few people were running about, tackling each other and tossing what looked to be a bunch of sacks around. Suddenly, Bill's attention went back to Hermionie. "I'm sorry. Name's Bill. You are Hermionie, right?"

The girl looked up and quickly nodded; she had forgotted introductions. So, apparaently, had Bill. Silence decended upon the kitchen again, and both looked back out the window. There were... five people out in the garden. Five people and... A streak of orange fur shot from underneath the window out to where the people were. She knew that streak well...

"Crookshanks?" Turning around, Hermionie realized that the carrier must have opened with the fall - it was now laying, empty, and the door leading into the garden was slightly ajar. Forgetting her trunk, the fact that she had never been here before, and that Bill was still in the kitchen, Hermionie ran into the garden after her cat.

All activity had stopped when the cat came out - suddenly, Ginny let out a cry. "Hermionie's here!" and promptly went towards the house at a full sprint. She was nearly to the door when Hermionie came out, and both crashed head-on into each other. Hermionie fell for the second time that day. Ron, who had started towards the house just after Ginny, tripped over the two girls and fell on top of them; the twins, being the twins, hurled themselves on top of Ron without any pretense at all.

"Hello, Hermionie!" George said cheerfully as he laid on top of the pile that was twisting and squirming under him.

"Fancy meeting you here!" Fred was laying face down on the pile and pretended to be suprised when he found his face inches from Hermionie's.

"Erm." It was more of a statement, Hermionie thought afterwards. 'Erm' can be used in almost any sitiuation, to a great extent.

So thought Fred. "Erm," he said wisely, nodding his head in mock-seriousness.

"There is a cat on my stomach," stated George as he stroked Crookshanks.

"Would you get off?" Ron cried- he was on top of Hermionie, and it was rather embaressing - also, Ginny's hip was in a rather uncomfortable place...

"Please do, Fred, George, or I will be forced to hex you three ways to Saturday." Ginny sounded very calm... calm before the storm, really, because she was turning a bright red.

"Erm," Hermionie stated again. Ron was laying on top of her, Fred's face was inches from her own, George was having what seemed to be an incredibly intelligent conversation with Crookshanks, and Ginny was about to explode, as Bill and Charlie were laughing their heads off.

This, as the fates would have it, was how Molly Weasly found her offspring and one very embaressed Hermionie Granger. "Erm," was all she could say.

A/N: Another chappie, another day! Updates won't be one after the other like this normally, since I'm going to be kinda busy today, but I'll still post often! For those who were wondering, this is going to be completly cannon, which means Hermionie/Krum, with a bit of R/Hr. Which I support. Thanks to all of my wonderful reviewers! Cookies to all! (:.) Comments are greatly appreciated!