Yankee Accents

1Disclaimer: I do not own anything that is in this story, except the plot, and any characters that you do not recognize. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling!

Yankee Accents

Chapter Three: A Few Simple Meetings

Written By: Auburn Lily

Hermione looked out of the taxi driver's window as the car pulled into her driveway. Her house sat on a hill in a housing complex called 'Drover's Run.' It was a nice neighborhood, especially in the spring and summertime.

However, it was not spring or summertime.

Thick snow blanketed the ground, except for the driveway and sidewalk leading up to the front door. Her parent's house was a simple two-story with a wrap-around porch and a back yard. Her mother loved gardening but at the moment the grass and flowerbeds were dead. The house was redbrick, with a few chimneys' spitting smoke towards the sky.

The taxi came to a halt and she stepped out of the car, paying the driver with a few Euros that she had changed back at the airport. She then walked around to the trunk of the car to retrieve her suitcase and bag. She bid farewell to the driver, thanking him and wishing him a Happy Christmas. She proceeded up the walk to the front door, which was suspiciously open.

She entered into the house that she hadn't seen in years, only to be greeted by a foyer that had not changed since the last time she had been there. A mediocre chandelier hung from the ceiling some fifteen feet above her head and she could clearly see the second landing, guarded by a rail. The walls were painted an ivory white and the flooring was dark paneled wood, covered by a faded oriental rug that had graced that floor since Hermione had been five years old.

Hermione set her bags down on the floor and stowed her traveling coat and heels in the hall closet. She then walked down the hallway into the kitchen, where her mother was standing at the counter talking on the phone and chopping up potatoes. She glanced at Hermione and smiled, giving her a nice "Hello, Hermione dear, how was your day?" before turning around to the sink to wash off the potato that was in her hand. Then she froze, the phone dropping to the floor and the person on the other end repeatedly saying "Hello... hello... hello..." Mrs. Granger slowly turned around, with the potato still clutched tightly in her hand a look of stricken grief on her face.

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes, before smiling innocently, "Hello, mama, lovely day, hmm?"

"Hermione... Hermione... is that really you?" Mrs. Granger squeaked, her eyes as large as Quaffles.

"Yes mom, now are you going to stand there gawking at me, or are you going to come over here and hug me? Drop that ridiculous potato, by the way. I'll clean up later, and chop the rest for you." Hermione rambled, opening her arms while her mother dropped the potato and ran at her daughter with all the force of a speeding Hogwarts Express Train.

"Oh my goodness, Hermione!" Mrs. Granger said, finally gathering her voice, and pushing herself away from her daughter, now gripping her shoulders. "Oh my goodness. Don't ever do that again. How dare you. You've been gone for a decade, without so much as a call or letter or anything, and then you show up and expect me to not be in the least bit shocked?"

"Of course I knew you'd be shocked mom. And I didn't call or anything because there really was no time to call or write or anything like that..." Hermione simpered, tapering off. She walked out from under her mother's grasp, and picked up the potato to continue chopping. Her mother eyed her suspiciously.

"Hermione dear, you're so thin from the last time I saw you. Granted, it has been almost ten years, and my memory is not anything it used to be but you seem to be a mere skeleton of what you used to be. I'm betting you weigh under a hundred pounds at least."

"Mom, I'm fine. I've just been on a rigorous diet the last couple of years," Hermione lied, turning to the sink to wash another potato so her mother couldn't see the look on her face. "Mom aren't you going to pick up that phone?"

Mrs. Granger immediately stooped over to pick up the receiver and said, "Marge are you there?... yes yes I'm sorry... I got tagged down." Mrs. Granger immediately looked to Hermione, with the question flashing all over her face of whether she should tell Marge the real reason she dropped the phone. Hermione shook her head vigorously, and Mrs. Granger turned back to the phone. "No Marge, the dogs were barking at something, I had to check... yes, we do too have dogs... no, no Marge, of course you haven't seen them, Ben just picked them up yesterday... no, no I can't meet you for tea later... I'm sorry, I'll just have to see it another time... yes well, I must run... ring me later, I might be in... yes, bye now... Bye Marge!" Mrs. Granger hung the phone up on its receiver with an exasperated sigh and said, "She just never shuts up."

Hermione laughed a nervous kind of laugh, and then tense silence followed. The only noise that sang in their ears was that of the knife on the chopping board. Mrs. Granger nervously tucked hair behind her ear, and then fiddled with a small hole on her shirt that was slowly getting bigger as time wore on.

"So mom, what have you been up to for the last few years?" Hermione asked conversationally. Her mother dodged this question, and cut straight to the questions she should be granted.

"Hermione Granger, don't you even question me. Where were you? Why didn't you write? We wouldn't have told anyone where you were, you know that? So what was the big deal of secrecy? I can't believe Ben and I just let you leave. You have no idea how much I regret it now. We thought you would be gone for a few weeks, a month maybe, but ten years? Hermione, where were you?"

Hermione stared at the mountainous pile in front of her, which steadily grew higher and higher as she continued to chop the potatoes. She blinked a few times, lone tears ran races down her cheeks, and she didn't even bother to wipe them away. Finally she replied, "Mom, you have no idea how much I wanted to write. It was eating me from the inside out, but I knew that Draco could get hold of letters in the mail. I didn't want him to know where I had gone. And I didn't want Harry to know either, because he would have told Draco, and Ron would have told Harry, who would have still told Draco. And I knew that Draco would have followed me. He would have followed me anywhere. I couldn't have that. He knew what I wanted... I mean... he knew everything. It was impossible to be with him. So I couldn't tell anyone where I was. And as for where I've been the last ten years I was in Delaware... in the states... on the coast."

Mrs. Granger took all of this in, covering her face with her hands before silently walking out into the hall, putting on her coat and shoes, and then leaving the house without saying a word.

Hermione lifted her head up and put the knife down on the cutting board, blinking her tears away softly. When she was sure her mother's muffler had faded into the bleak and sodden distance down the road, she picked up her bags from the entrance hall and walked up the carpeted staircase. She made her way to her room, which she assumed was locked and was surprised when it opened with quite ease, as if it were opened everyday.

Hermione looked around the bedroom, which hadn't been bothered in ten years. Even her bed dressings were still exactly the way she had left them: disorderly, and slept in. Hermione's room was not messy in the slightest way. At the end of her bed sat her old, and disserted Hogwarts trunk, dust gathered on it. Inside held all of the keys to her past and she wondered if she should open it up.

She glanced in her age-spotted vanity mirror, and saw her reflection staring back at her, barely discernible through the thick carpet of dust that clung to the surface. Her dark eyes shone through, inquisitive and hungry, rimmed with dark lashes and her hair fell in a lush curtain to her waist, almost like a thick, impenetrable shield that would do anything to keep out her darkest fears. But her eyes, curious and strong, won the battle and she dropped to her knees, undoing the rusty padlock with trembling fingers and lifting the lid.

She waved her hand in front of her face, as dust and mothballs rushed to meet her, and sputtered a few coughs before opening her watering eyes once more. She saw the contents as she had once left them so long ago. Her wand lay on top of her robes and school uniform, which were folded in a corner. She picked it up gingerly in one hand, running the smooth, cool wood over her fingers.

"Hmmm," she muttered to herself, and whispered, "Avis," causing a few doves to burst from the end of the wand, to perch on her shoulders and head. She set the wand down next to her, pleased to find that she hadn't lost any of her magical expertise. Smiling slightly to herself, she dug through the thick piles of textbooks and notebooks, pulling them out, only to reveal more. Hermione had long ago charmed her trunk to allow more space than a normal muggle trunk would allow, so her trunk held all of her books and belongings from first year onward.

Soon a large pile of tattered old tomes sat next to her, littered with parchment, quills and inkwells. She had also cleaned out her robes and uniform; they now lay on her bed, the wrinkles carefully smoothed out. She was now picking up some of her more valuable items, including a jewelry box, and her journal. She set the jewelry box next to her and let her journal fall open on her lap, revealing her scrawled, cramped handwriting.

12/08/97

Today Harry asked me to the annual Seventh Year Christmas Ball, and of course I consented. But somehow I feel that I wish Draco would ask me instead. Of course Ron wouldn't like that, and I don't know how Harry would feel on the matter either. Draco and I are on such better terms now than we ever were. At the beginning of the year, during the first couple of months, of course he was still conceited and arrogant and haughty, and everything else I ever thought of him. But now he seems different. And I don't know what inspired the sudden change. Sometimes he almost reminds me of Harry. Just some of the things he does and some of the things that he says to me. And of course he would be furious with me if I ever even mentioned this particular idea. So I won't. But I can't ignore the fact that he seems to be a much more likeable person.

---

Hermione flipped through the diary until she found two dried, pressed roses in the pages. She picked them up, and was sorry to say she didn't know which of them had sent each. She handled them gently in her fingers, the enticing aroma wafting up to meet her nostrils. She set them on the floor next to her journal. The next few pages were just her worries and fears about the war and she closed it slowly, not wanting to read anymore at the moment.

She turned to the jewelry box that she had received from Draco for Christmas that same year. It was cherry-wood, embossed with her name in swirling gold ink on the top. She opened it up, only to reveal the beautiful locket that he had given her that following spring, when he had told her he would love her forever.

She lifted the locket off the silken cushion and turned it over in her hand. It was antique gold, a true Malfoy heirloom that Draco had given to her because he was sure she would be the woman he was to marry. The front was encrusted with small, smooth opals and the chain, which was gossamer thin, glinted in the small amount of light that filtered in through the sooty windows. She unhooked the clasp and wrapped it around her neck, fastening it in the back and lifting it under her hair. She closed the box, which was emitting a deep, mournful, melodic cello piece.

She set that aside as well and arranged all of her books onto her bookshelf, and placed her quills on her desk. She suspected that the ink in the pots was dried out and gummy so she threw them away in her wastebasket. She then lifted her wand and muttered a cleaning charm. Her room went from appearing derelict and smelling musty to visually sparkling and smelling of lemons and fresh linen. She simpered to herself and walked from the room to shower.

---

The next few days went by in tears and laughter. Hermione's mother finally accepted her reasons for leaving and Hermione's father was just pleased to finally have her back in the house. She went shopping with her mother the day after she arrived in London and then her father took her to his brother's house to see all of the family once more. And finally the day she was to meet Harry in the Leaky Cauldron arrived.

She drove to London in her mother's car and parked a few streets away from the pub. She had dressed fairly simple for the occasion. She wore jeans with a light brown sweater and a grey pea coat, with a black scarf and gloves. She had pulled her hair back carelessly into a clip and a few pieces had already escaped. Her wand was kept in the inside of her jacket.

The walk to the pub barely took any time. It was snowing out, as it normally was during this time of year, and snowflakes clung to her eyelashes and fell into her hair. Hermione remembered her way around London very well, considering all of the time she had spent away. Before she knew it she was looking at the restaurant she hadn't looked at in a decade. She entered the Leaky Cauldron in a flurry of snowflakes and chilly wind and was immediately greeted by the type of people she hadn't seen in years.

It was warm in the pub and many witches and wizards sat around the tables, rosy-cheeked and smiling, clutching their parcels and packages and talking serenely over lunch. Hermione spotted Tom, the tooth-less bartender, dusting off glasses with a clean white rag, and made her way over to him.

She smiled at him when he spotted her and she took a seat at the bar. "Hello, Tom, long time no see, hmm?"

He smiled back, and said, "Hi Hermione, I haven't seen you since before you graduated. Where've you been?"

"Oh long story, but it's nice to see you too," she replied sweetly. "Umm... I'm supposed to be meeting Harry Potter here at noon, has he arrived yet?"

"Oh yea, he's sitting over at that table in the corner," Tom answered, pointing it out to Hermione, and she turned around, spotting where Tom was pointing. Someone was sitting at a table in the corner, but was shrouded in Daily Prophet newspapers.

"Oh yes I see now. No wonder I couldn't see him before. He's hiding. Well, thanks Tom," Hermione said, getting off of the barstool.

"Of course. And how about a drink?" he asked her, dropping the rag and glass he was wiping off and walking over to the cabinet.

"Oh, sure... how about a vodka with cranberry?" Hermione answered. He handed her one and she made her way over to the table where Harry sat, lowering herself soundlessly in the chair across from him. She stirred the acidic drink in front of her, and took a few sips before setting it on the table.

"Interesting?" she asked him, since he appeared to be so deeply immersed in whatever article he was reading. He jumped noticeably, and looked over the rim of his newspaper, before setting it down and folding it gently. Then he turned his forest-green eyes on hers, and sighed heavily.

Not much had changed about Harry. His hair still sat untidy and unkempt on his head, dark as a raven's wings, and glasses still slid down his nose every few minutes. He kept his bangs long, to hide the scar that was tattooed on his forehead, and there were sharp creases and lines that dug painfully into the skin around his eyes.

She smiled softly and sheepishly said, "So how're things?"

Harry arched a sardonic eyebrow, and then sighed heavily again, running a hand through his hair. His facial expressions softened as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Glad to see you could show." Harry replied, avoiding her question. "You don't look much different," he added, lying.

"Thanks I guess. How's Molly?" Hermione asked, raising her auburn eyes to meet his.

He stifled a yawn and said "Not good. I didn't think you would come."

"We all do unpredictable things, don't we? Did you just come from St. Mungo's?"

He nodded and rubbed his eyes before absentmindedly running a hand through his hair again. "When did you leave?"

"The morning after Hedwig came with your letter," Hermione replied, stirring her drink with a spoon that lay on the table. "I came as soon as I could, you know. I'm here for two months."

Harry narrowed his eyes, and something stirred behind them but he quickly shoved it down. "Where did you go?"

Hermione lowered her eyes again and rested her head on one fist. She sipped her drink and wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand, a simple childish gesture, before slowly raising her eyes to look at him again. "Well," she answered, still avoiding his piercing gaze. "I went down south, to the states. My apartment is on the Delaware coast line."

"That explains your weird accent," he replied. "Why'd you stay so long?"

"Oh well, I like it there," she bluntly lied. "It's nice."

Harry narrowed his eyes again, but did not reply.

"Look Harry. I know you're mad at me for staying away for so long and I must admit it was a while. Not that I didn't have good reason," she added under her breath. "But it's wonderful to see you again and it's wonderful to be back."

"Hogwarts is having a Christmas reunion party for our class," Harry said, abruptly changing the subject.

Hermione looked at him in disbelief, her eyes narrowed in shock and apprehension. She immediately began absentmindedly fingering the locket that hung around her neck.

"Look, I know what you're thinking," Harry replied quickly, immediately noticing her fidgety antics. His cold, stoical demeanor melted fast. "And you can't let that prevent you from going to see them all. You know I work at Hogwarts now?"

"Really?" Hermione asked, arching an eyebrow and sounding thoroughly impressed. She seemed to have forgotten her previous reservations upon Harry mentioning a teaching position.

"Yea and McGonagall asks about you sometimes. She says that if you ever come back to tell you that Dumbledore wants you to take up teaching there."

"Oh," Hermione replied, sounding quite shocked. She mulled it over for a few seconds, and then glanced at Harry again and added, "But I have a wonderful job back home. I can't leave that. I've gotten so accustomed to life over there."

Harry's shoulders visually sagged. "Well I have two months to convince you to stay, hmm?"

Hermione looked skeptical. "I suppose," she doubted. "So when did you start teaching?"

"A few years ago, after I retired from Quidditch." He answered.

"Oh, so you did play Quidditch then?" she exclaimed. "I remember before I left that a few teams where offering you positions. Which did you accept?" she added, sounding slightly apologetic.

"England. Ron still plays Keeper, you know."

"Oh that's wonderful. How is Ron, by the way?" she asked matter-of-factly.

"Oh he's spanking, you know. He's married. Her name is Sinead, if you ever get around to going by there and meeting them. He met her when the team played Ireland for the first time, because she was Chaser. She's retired now since they have kids. "

"Why don't we go by there now?" she suggested, downing the rest of her mixed vodka in one gulp.

Harry's brow creased in disbelief before he sputtered a disbelieving "Now?"

"Yes of course. We can travel via Floo," Hermione answered, puckering out her bottom lip. "Just let me duck into the loo for a mo', okay?"

"Sure, lemme pay Tom."

Hermione met him at the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace a few moments later and brushed her hair out of her face before smiling sheepishly at him once again. She clasped his hand in hers, not noticing how sweaty it was.

"They're all at the Burrow. We just visited Molly earlier, and I told them I might stop by, so they're expecting me. But they're not expecting you. Hermione, they haven't seen you in almost a decade so don't get upset if they act like they've just seen a ghost." He said as he added the dust to the roaring fire in the grate.

"Okay don't worry. I prepared myself for this on the plane ride over." Hermione said. "And Harry? It really is nice seeing you again. I forgot how comforting your presence is, even if it is over a couple of drinks in a pub." She added, genuinely smiling at him this time.

"It's nice to see you, too," he mumbled before shouting "The Burrow!"

The next few seconds they were spinning in disarray, Hermione clutching tightly to Harry's hand, before being spit out again in a warm, cozy living room full of laughing, smiling redheads. Hermione stood up with the help of Harry, and dusted her clothes and hair off, before turning to the blank, shocked looks of the people in the room. She waved sheepishly.

"Hi, everyone," Hermione said, grinning apologetically. Ginny Weasley, who was standing behind one of the couches, dropped a glass something.

"Reparo," Hermione said automatically and the cup plate flew back up into her hands.

"Hermione?" she breathed finally.

"Yep. It's me. How are you? Where's Ron?"

"I'm right here," he replied, as he walked into the den and stopped dead immediately upon seeing Hermione. He stared at her in disbelief for a few seconds and then he had practically attacked her the next. She wrapped her arms around him as well, and then when he stepped back his eyes spelled elation and incredulity. "Where have you been?"

"Long story. In a nutshell Harry wrote to me, telling me that Molly was sick, so I came as soon as I could, you know."

"Wow," Ron said, stepping back to get a better look at her. His hair was still as coppery as ever with a few grays interwoven nonchalantly and his chocolate-brown eyes searched hers intently, almost in disbelief. "It's almost like seeing a ghost." He muttered.

"Ron Harry told me you got married? Congratulations, please introduce me to her." Hermione hurriedly said.

Ron turned around and gestured to a woman sitting on one of the couches. She was simply beautiful, with long, thick, auburn-brown hair that stretched to her waist. Sea-green eyes lined with curled lashes peered out from under her fringe. She smiled sweetly and handed the baby in her lap to Ginny, who was still standing behind the couch, slack-jawed, and stood, revealing a tall, slender-frame clearly built from years of Quidditch training. She held out a hand to Hermione, who took it gingerly and said in a rich, deep voice swimming with Irish accent, "Hello my name is Sinead. Pleased to meet you."

"Pleasures all mine of course," Hermione replied, returning the smile with one of her own. "I'm Hermione Granger, friend of Ron's from Hogwarts."

"Yes, yes, yes. I've heard much about you. Where've you been all these years?"

"Oh around," Hermione replied quite lamely, tucking a piece of hair behind an ear and nervously fiddling with one of her belt loops.

"Oh Hermione, I've got Crookshanks at my flat in London," Ginny spat out, finally gaining control of her voice.

"Thank you so much, Ginny. You have no idea how much I appreciate you keeping him and all. I expect he won't even remember me. I'll pick him up tomorrow if that's okay?"

"Of course. I'll be at the Ministry in the morning, but after noon I'll be home. Me, you and Sinead can all go out for tea how about it?"

"Oh sounds simply wonderful!" Sinead said excitedly, clapping her hands together.

"Yes of course," Hermione replied hurriedly. "Harry also told me, Ron, that you had children. I'd be simply delighted to meet them."

"Well, we've had five so far and Sinead's pregnant again," Ron answered, blushing a crimson red.

"Congratulations," Hermione replied. "That's wonderful!"

"Let's see, where are they all? Here's Allyn, the oldest," he said, pointing to the little girl who occupied one of the armchairs. She looked to be about seven. Her hair was red obviously, that glowed gold in the firelight. Freckles were sprinkled lightly across her nose like brown sugar spread over a tea pastry. Her large, brown eyes were turned towards Hermione as if she had never seen anything like her before. Hermione smiled at her and she didn't smile back, just narrowed her eyes curiously. "She's a little shy," he added. "The other few are upstairs. Merlin forbid what it is they're doing."

"I think Fred's up there," Sinead replied naively.

"Corruption," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"So where's the food? I'm famished," Ron announced to no one in particular.

"I see he hasn't changed one little bit, hmm?" Hermione asked, turning to Harry.

"Not at all," he replied, laughing.

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