One Last Shot

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling, not me. Savvy?

Chapter 1: Arrested Development

'Here, let me get that for you, Ronald.'

James Potter stood and took a tray filled with tea and pastries from the redhead, setting it down on the scrubbed wooden table in the Weasley's kitchen.

'Thanks, Mr. Potter.' Ron sat at the table and grabbed a mug.

'Not to be rude,' Harry started, 'but are you going to tell us what's going on?'

As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry knew he shouldn't have said them. Hermione was obviously upset, and his impatience and insensitivity weren't going to help her. But to his surprise, Hermione chuckled.

'If you don't mind, I'd like to wait for Remus.' she said. 'You did tell him, James, didn't you?'

'Of course I did! I'll just go remind him, though. Can I use your floo for a moment, Ronald?'

Ron looked up from the table with a pumpkin pasty crammed in his mouth. 'Oh, kohe, Miffur Puffur, ' he said around his food, spraying crumbs.

Hermione shook her head lightly, and said, 'Just as I remember him.'

'He means "Yes" Dad,' Harry clarified, seeing his father's confused and slightly disgusted face.

'Right. Thanks.'

James disappeared into the living room, returning a few minutes later with a soot-covoered and sleepy Remus Lupin. He yawned, slipping into the chair beside Hermione. 'Morning everyone,' he said lightly. 'Do we finally get to hear what happened, Mione?'

'It's half past two, Remus,' Hermione replied, ignoring his question. 'Now, where should I begin...?'

'How 'bout the beginning?' Ron suggested lamely.

'Well, alright. I was born on 10:12 AM on September 19, 1979. The weather was simply lovely that day, or so I'm told, as I don't actually remember it. My mother and father were ever so delighted that I was born; so much, in fact, that they even let my cousins eat a bit of sugar. Later they realized that-'

'Mione,' Harry interrupted, 'how about you tell us how you got like this.'

'Yeah, ten minutes ago you were our age, and now you're, well, you're old.'

'Thanks RonYou sure do know how to make a girl feel good about herself. Seriously, I'm glowing. Anyway, if you're done interrupting, I suppose I'll start with my getting bit by a werewolf. It-'

'You're a lycan?' James asked. 'Since when?'

'You certainly weren't one last night,' Remus agreed. 'And if you were, why the bloody hell didn't you keep me company?'

'If you two would shut up, I could tell you, you know,' Hermione pointed out. She was met, for once, with silence, so she cleared her throat.

Ron took a bite out of his cauldron cake. 'Well?' he prompted.

'This whole affair started with me getting bit by a werewolf,' Hermione said after a few seconds. 'If memory serves me, it would've happened just last night had I not intervened. Yesterday- my yesterday, mind, the one that happened about 30 years ago- was Bill and Fleur's wedding, and Ron and I were walking along the road after dark. A werewolf, most likely Fenrir Greyback, jumped out from the side of the road and bit me, on my shoulder.'

'Were you OK?' Ron asked, reaching for a cookie.

'She was bit by a werewolf, Ron; of course she's not OK!'

'Harry, she said she's not a lycan, so it couldn't have been that bad,' Ron argued.

Harry rolled his eyes and took a sip of tea. 'Wanker,' he muttered.

'Actually, boys, it wasn't that terrible. But it scared me so much that I couldn't think straight the next day- today- and I was hit by three spells because of my stupidity. 'Hermione looked sadly at her tea, sighing quietly. Remus leaned toward her and whispered something neither Harry nor Ron could hear, and Hermione smiled, shaking her head.

'So, are you going to tell us exactly what happened?' James asked impatiently.

'If you want me too.'

'We do,' Harry answered quickly, while the others nodded their heads, 'and don't leave anything out.'

'OK...' Hermione blushed, glancing at Remus, 'but consider this your warning.' She sipped her tea, then began to speak.

Hermione sat up, confused. She was supposed to be dead. Not that she wanted to be, but she'd been hit with the killing curse. Why hadn't she died?

Had she died? Could this field be her final resting place?

No, Hermione decided; surely Heaven (or even Hell, for that matter) would be more glamourous. So where in the name of Merlin was she?

Hermione stood up and took in her surroundings. She was standing on the edge of a cornfield, in front of a small but comfortable house. To her right was a village, mestled among the hills. To her left- Hermione stopped. She knew that town! Harry and Ron used to drag her there all the time during the summer. It was Ottery St. Catchpole!

But the only way that could work was if that cottage was the Burrow. And that just wasn't possible.

Hermione looked closer at it. Now that she thought about it, the house did look like the ground floor of the Burrow. So what happened to it? And where the bloody hell was everybody?

'Hey you! Girly! What the bleedin' hell are ye doin' on my property!'

An old man had just appeared from inside the cornfield. He was wearing dirty coveralls with patched knees. His hair was greying and his face had developed wrinkles. He was holding a pitchfork and he looked like he was about ready to use it on Hermione. 'Well girly! I'm waitin'!' He growled.

'Erm, don't the Weasley's live here?' Hermione asked timidly.

'No!' the old man shouted.

'But, I-'

'Christ Allmighty!' the man interrupted. 'Kids today!' He brandished his pitchfork wildly and Hermione flinched. Perfect; Gryffindor bravery was another thing she had lost. The man took one last look at Hermione and, scowling, walked quickly to his cottage and slammed the door.

Hermione flung herself onto the ground. Now what?

After a few minutes, Hermione saw a white car pull into the drive and a man in a uniform step out before making his way to the front door. Did that irate man call the police? Hermione wondered. The prat!

The old man joined the policeman outside, then pointed to Hermione. Hermione, recognizing defeat, got up and took a few shaking steps toward the pair. She didn't want to be arrested. Was trespassing an arrestable offense?

'Well missy. you're trespassing on private property. I'm gonna have to take you in,' the officer said once Hermione reached them. He pulled out his handcuffs.

'Oh, no, that won't be necessar, Officer,' Hermione said. 'I'll just leave now. I'm sorry, sir,' she added to the old man. She walked past the men and started walking toward the town when she felt something cold against her wrists.

'Too bad, little girl. You're coming with me.'

Police Officer Arnold Bax handed Hermione a coin. 'One phone call,' he told her.

'No one to call,' Hermione whispered, more to herself than to Officer Bax. 'What's the date?'

'July 13, 1977, little girl. Surely you know that.'

'Wow, 20 years... Where am I supposed to go?' she asked.

'We can release you when a parent or guardian arrives, so you might want to call someone soon. Anyone.'

Hermione shook her head. 'No one,' she said again.

'So you're an orphan?' Officer Bax asked.

'I guess so.'

'Call your orphanage.'

'Don't have one. Told you already, Officer, I've got no one to call.'

'Well, that's a problem, then. I'll have to get this sorted out. What's your name, little girl?'

'It's Laura,' Hermione answered, saying the first name that popped into her head. 'Laura Smith. But why do I need an orphanage?'

'Because, you're not of age yet,' Officer Bax replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

'Uh-huh I have to go to the bathroom.'

Hermione took one look at herself in the dirty mirror and nearly fainted. Staring back at her was a ghastly white pre-teen that she didn't recognize.

'Oh, Merlin...' Hermione muttered, touching her face. 'Oh, no! They're back!' She ran her tongue over her front teeth, which had grown slightly. 'What the bloody hell was I hit with?' She pulled at her frizzy hair, noting that it was worse than she remembered, before moving her hands over her body. She took stock of the changes.

Her breasts were non-existant. Her arms and legs were stubby. Around her belly rested the remains of her baby-fat. Her lips were thinner. Her arse was flat. Her hair was huge, as were her teeth.

'I hate adolescense.' hermione scowled at the little girl in the mirror. She scowled back.

There was a knock on the door. 'You almost done in there, Miss Smith?'

'I've got to get out of here.'

'What was that?'

'Nothing!' Hermione called through the door. 'Thanks for your hospitality, Officer Bax, but I really must be going. I do hope I can fit through this window.' She pulled out her wand and whispered, 'Alohomora.' The window creaked open. 'Bye now!' She waited to hear Officer Bax leave the door to get outside, then Hermione turned on her heel, muttering, 'Destination, determination, deliberation.'

With a pop, Hermione was gone, leaving a thoroughly confused Officer Bax behind.

End notes: Thanks very much to my reviewers. I doubt that this chapter cleared up any questions you may have had; it might have added more. But thanks to all who read this, even if you don't review. I'd like to remind everyone that while constructive critisism is fanbloodytastic, I don't appreciate flames.

Sorry if there are any spelling/typing errors. I'll fix it tomorrow.

Dancing with pineapples,
Jibs