- Rating:
- R
- House:
- Riddikulus
- Genres:
- Romance
- Era:
- Multiple Eras
- Spoilers:
- Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban
- Stats:
-
Published: 01/01/2002Updated: 01/01/2002Words: 4,684Chapters: 1Hits: 1,082
Better or for Worse
Her Majesty
- Story Summary:
- Due to the fact that Hermione’s father had custody of her after her parents separation, Hermione moved around a lot before her father settled back in England. Hermione receives the letter that she is to start at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, even if she is now fifteen. There, she meets the famous Harry Potter, his best friend the troublemaker Ron Weasley, and his little sister, Ginny. They have an adventure of their lives with Hermione at Hogwarts now...
Chapter 01
- Posted:
- 01/01/2002
- Hits:
- 1,082
"Well, welcome back to London, Herm," her father stated, almost sadly, as they both stepped off the moving treadmill, clutching their luggage tightly. Max, Hermione’s father, was slightly nervous and pale.
"Worried?" she smirked. Brushing the shoulder-length mousy brown hair out of her eyes, she took in her surroundings. "Does everyone here speak with an accent?"
"Accent?" Max frowned, then nodded. "Oh, yes. They all speak like that. After awhile, you will too."
"Me? Speak all British-y and... and, like that?" She demanded, pouting. Her own voice was light and musically, but had a sharpness to it when she was alone. Her voice was devoid of any "accent", as she put it, from growing up all over the world. She, instead, developed her own talk and voice characteristics from living the past year in Panama, right by South America.
"Darling, you’ll find that no one talks here without an accent," Max sighed, and they stepped out of the sliding doors and into the slightly cool, early September air. Turning to a cab driver, Max lifted his suitcases and backpacks with his daughter’s help and placed them in the trunk.
"Uh, where are we going?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows at Max’s attempts to shut an overflowing bag that had popped open.
"We’re - grunt - staying right now - grunt - at a townhouse - grunt, grunt - in Surrey," Max finally wheezed, shutting the luggage and tying a thick, pink belt around it.
"Surrey?" Hermione repeated. Max nodded and slid in the back next to her.
"Where to, sir?" the cabby asked, which Hermione later learned was spoken in a Cockney accent.
"53 Wiltshire Drive, Surrey," Max said, still red in the face from his beforehand actions.
"Righto," the man replied, and pulled the cab away from the curb.
"Holy shi—shucks," Hermione flattered, looking at her father, "he’s pulling off on the wrong side of the street!"
"In England, they drive on the left hand side," Max explained.
"Is this a mixed-up country, or what?" Hermione said grumpily, and slumped back in her seat.
**-**
Once the cab driver pulled up on a deserted block, Hermione looked around. She had been occupying her time by writing out lyrics for her new tabs. She finally saw the townhouse they would be living in for a year or so.
There was a nice, pearl trimming, blue-gray paint townhouse, with at least three stories, and was squashed right, smack middle of the block.
"This is it?" Hermione asked dully.
"Yeah," Max sighed. "Come on, let’s go exploring."
Hermione knew the phrase well. After her father was granted her custody, she had learnt that that phrase was meaning that they were living in the house for at least half a year and they needed to unpack.
Sighing, she lugged her guitar case, her backpack (slung over her aching shoulders) and another suitcase up the stairs. She dropped them on the landing there, but then took a peek in the rooms. Finding the master bedroom wasn’t hard; it was the first door on her left (where all doors were). She went to the next door and saw a bathroom. Sighing, she opened the last door down the hall, and saw a staircase. Intrigued, she began climbing up and found the attic, which was dusty. It covered the same size as the master bedroom, but had two front windows, and a seat window facing the tiny backyard.
"Found my room!" Hermione shouted down the stairs. A few minutes later, Max appeared in the doorway.
"Hey, pretty nice. Cozy... is this dust?" He asked, looking down.
"Yeah. So if you wake up tomorrow morning and find a completely white girl, it’s me," Hermione said dryly.
Max laughed. "Well, I’ll go back downstairs and bring up the other suitcases, okay? Then I’ll fix up my bedroom, and I’ll ask you to call for some pizza or Chinese, okay?"
"Sure, Dad," Hermione nodded, and dropped her heavy backpack on the floor. "I guess I’ll go look in the closet in the downstairs hallway for a broom. Lord knows I need it."
Flipping some hair over her shoulder, she strode down the narrow stairs after her father, who then disappeared into his room. Finding the broom, she brought it back up, paused in the doorway and nearly fell back down.
Her room was spotless; there wasn’t any dust on the ground anymore.
"Harry Potter! Ron Weasley! Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas!" a stern voice shouted throughout the Gryffindor tower.
It was eleven o’clock, and nearly all of the student body was asleep. Ravenclaws, Slytherins and Hufflepuffs slept on, but the rest of the Gryffindor house woke up to the sound of four pairs of feet stomping down their stairs and strutting into the common room.
"Yes Professor McGonagall?" Harry Potter asked innocently. The fifteen year old boy smiled, and girls who had come down from their rooms swooned. After all, what wasn’t there to like? Now tall, steadily growing handsome, and messy black hair topped off the ‘tall, dark and handsome’ cliché. He had striking emerald green eyes outlined by his Buddy Holly glasses, and a cocky grin, with an unusual lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.
"I have just been informed by Professor Snape that the Slytherin fifth years have been covered in boils, a purple rash and they all talk like chipmunks!" McGonagall fumed.
"How did that happen?" Dean Thomas asked, looking confused. He was the second tallest of the group, he was also the most-wanted after Harry. He was the exact same - tall, dark and handsome, with black hair, warm brown eyes and, of course, dimples. He had the calm and cool personality, always thinking up plans.
"I wouldn’t know, but I know it had something to do with the four of you," said McGonagall evenly. "I’m sure the Raiders had something to do with it."
"Us?" squeaked the redhead of the group, the tall and gangly Ron Weasley. He was the temperamental, loyal type, with stringy carrot-colored hair, and brown eyes.
"Yes; the Raiders must have had something to do with it, because I don’t know anyone else who has such a strong dislike for the certain Slytherins that were attacked," McGonagall stated.
"Just because we don’t like Malfoy’s gang"—Harry began, shifting his position, and Ron beside him coughed their rival gang’s name, "Archners" (after the word, archness meaning ‘cunning’) - "doesn’t mean we’d do something to them, Professor."
Seamus Finnigan, the last one of the group, stayed silent. He was slightly on the short with sandy-brown hair and gray eyes. Most known as "The mysterious, silent, studios one", he kept mainly to himself, and was the voice of reason within the Raiders.
"I have many reasons to believe that you and your gang might be behind this, Potter," began McGonagall, "but since I have no proof you will not get detention. Now, off to bed you trot. All of you, bed!"
Slowly, Gryffindors climbed back to bed, but Ginny Weasley, Ron’s little sister, waited for them.
"So why did you do that to Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle?" Ginny asked once McGonagall was out.
"Oh, we didn’t do it to just them - we did it to Nott and Zabini too..." Harry laughed.
"What did they do to you?" Ginny asked.
Ron sighed. "Hexed Neville and left him alone in the boy’s bathroom. We couldn’t find him until the hex took place - he was covered in head to toe with green goo. Had to levitate him to the hospital ward."
Ginny gasped. "Is that why he wasn’t back tonight? Ooh, poor Neville - I better go and make him a good better card..." she trailed off as she ran back to her room.
The boys watched her leave before heading up to the fifth years’ room.
"Ten sickles Neville asks her to the Yule Ball this year," Dean said suddenly.
"You’re on," Seamus replied. Harry and Ron sighed blissfully. It was going to be a sweet year.
"Dad! DAD!" shouted Hermione as she bounced down her rickety stairs, practically flying into her father’s bedroom.
"Herm? What’s wrong?" Max asked, truly concerned. Hermione never got worked up, and over the years she had taken herself into a rebellious nature that reflected her whole nature - black, silver, gold, and scarlet were all that she wore, streaking her hair different colors every two months, and receiving numerous piercing.
"Okay, remember the floor?" Hermione said, trying to calm herself.
"Yeah. It was covered in dust."
"Right. So I went downstairs to get the broom. Then I come back upstairs and - poof! —The floor is clean," Hermione said, snapping her fingers at ‘poof’.
"Poof? Clean?" Max asked, eyes wide.
Hermione nodded.
"I think its jetlag," he finally decided. "Anyway, if there is something supernatural, thank it. You don’t have to clean it now."
"But—but, Dad," Hermione sputtered.
"Go back upstairs, Herm, I’ll order us some Japanese; How’s that?" Max asked, gently guiding her back to her stairs.
She sighed and nodded. But halfway up the stairs, she shouted, "make it chicken!"
Max sighed, and went downstairs to the lower level of the house. He then slumped down on the kitchen table that he’d had since Hermione and he had first lived in a trailer outside Ventura, California.
"It’s finally beginning," he muttered. "Cheryl knew that either Hermione or Hallie would have her Grandmother’s powers..."
He groaned and placed his head in his hands. "Okay. So Hermione might be a witch. That doesn’t have to be a bad thing, right? After all, its September seconded. I can enroll her in a school here and no one will know what she is... yeah, that’s it..."
He then sat up and reached for the phone book, finding a local chicken place and dialed.
"Oh, who am I kidding?" Max whined, after he ordered a basket of wings and drumsticks. "If Herm’s what I think she is... I can’t keep it from her."
"Keep what from me?" a voice in the door asked.
"Your mother wants to see you," Max mumbled, without missing a beat. It wasn’t a lie, he told himself, Cheryl did want to see Hermione.
"Ugh," Hermione said. "And my sister will be there?"
"Yep," Max replied, grinning to him. He knew how much Hermione hated her flirtatious, make-up loving, Oh-My-God, New Kids on the Block-are-so-cute sister. Being a year older than Hermione, she also thought she knew more, which annoyed Hermione a lot. Most of the time, their meetings ended up in rows.
"Hallie is such a hullabaloo," Hermione sighed, and flopped onto a kitchen chair. "So. Ordered yet?" She wiggled her eyebrows at him and he laughed.
"Twenty minutes or its free," Max answered her, just as the doorbell rang. He got up and answered it. The chicken guy was telling him the price, and he was having trouble picking out the correct notes.
"Here," Hermione said, plucking a twenty pound note from his wallet and handing it to the guy who gave her pence in return. She shut the door and carried the bucket, Cokes, and dips to the kitchen table. Unpacking two plates, she handed one to her father and they sat down in silence.
"Dad?" Hermione finally asked.
"Hmm?"
"I think I’m a freak," Hermione said quickly.
Max choked on his wing and looked up at her. "What makes you think that, ‘Mione?"
"Well... after my floor was clean, I was mumbling about how much trouble it was for me to unpack everything when my things hadn’t arrived yet. You know, my dresser and bed and stuff," Hermione shrugged, "so I said something like, ‘Damn, I wish this was already folded and placed in piles’. Then, the weirdest thing happened, my clothes flew out of my bags and arranged themselves in piles! I think I must be hallucinating, but - hey, it was there!"
"Hermione... did you ever think you might..." Max choked on his words, "might be a witch?"
"What is this? Spy TV? Where’s the camera?" Hermione asked, looking at her father. Seeing his straight face and serious expression, she jumped. "No way. I can’t be a witch. They have... warts... and, and... they eat dogs."
"No they don’t," Max blinked.
"What do you mean, ‘no they don’t’?" Hermione frowned.
"Um... well, for one, Cheryl’s mother is a witch." Max bit his lip. "And..."
"And...?" Hermione mocked.
"Well, I um... did go to school," Max chuckled nervously.
"School? You said you went to Smeltings," protested Hermione, "unless you were lying to me, father."
"Okay; I lied," he said carelessly. "I’m a wizard."
Hermione’s jaw dropped. "Shut... up!"
Max laughed at his daughter’s shocked face, but then sobered pretty quickly at how angry she looked. "It’s true, Hermione. I really am a wizard. Your mother is a Muggle, so she isn’t a witch, but she knew her mother was."
"And what does that make me? The kid of a freak and a workaholic?" Hermione demanded.
Max’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t think it would be that hard to get her to understand. "Hermione..."
"No... No!" Hermione said, jumping up. "No ‘Hermione...’ me, Dad. We’ll talk about this tomorrow, after I get packed in."
She then grabbed about five more wings and drumstick, piling them on her plate, and grabbed another coke. She then stomped upstairs, her door slamming.
Max winced. He knew it wasn’t it good idea to come here.
"Wizard my ass," Hermione muttered darkly as she climbed the stairs, the chicken wings bouncing on her every step. She then dropped the plate on her sleeping bag, and fumed silently on its squishiness. She reached over and turned up her stereo near full blast and went straight to "Black, Black Heart" on her David Usher CD. She had a soft side for the Quebeçois.
Finally, after she ran through all the lumberjack curses, threats, and painful tortures she could remember, she bit into a chicken leg and produced a very lengthy, very romantic book. Curling up on the window seat with her coke and dinner, she flipped through the pages without realizing how much time was flying by.
It wasn’t until it was nearly pitch black outside did Hermione check the time and yelped.
"Two a.m.! Damn! I really got caught up in this," she muttered, and placed her bookmark in it. She turned off with a flick of her remote her CD player (on repeat) and sighed as she looked at her empty plate, and then her stomach, which growled; she picked the plate up and snuck down her stairs.
Creaking open the door, she peered out and saw that her father was asleep in his room. She then tiptoed down the last few steps to the lower floor and grinned as she saw that he had left a few chicken pieces in the box.
Spying the microwave in the dark, she pressed a few buttons and thanked God that her dad was a heavy sleeper. She then carried the warm food back up to her room, never noticing the wand that was lying on the kitchen table.
Harry blinked in the dark. It was strange; he had this really weird dream. Reaching for his glasses that were lying on his stomach, he looked at his ceiling. Glow-in-the-dark stars glittered back down at him.
"Who was she?" he wondered, whispering in the night. A snort came from Ron’s side of the room, and a wheezing sound that sounded like mumbling came from Seamus’ side.
Thinking back to his dream, he realized he was wandering in this townhouse somewhere and no one could see him. He was floating up this second staircase when this girl bounces down the last steps and shouts in some strange accent she’ll get the broom to clean her room up. So, Harry decided to walk up the stairs and see her room. Reaching the top, he saw how dusty it was and thought it might be best for her to have a little help - it would take a long time. A simple cleaning charm was all that was needed, and the room was spotless. A loud thwack caught his attention as he turned around.
The girl was standing in the doorway, swaying, and nearly toppled over. "DAD!" She screamed, running back down the stairs, her eyes wide. After a few minutes, she came back up, grumbling, and muttered, "Damn! I wish that I could get these clothes in piles..."
Again noticing her large collection of bags, Harry said a simple charm and the clothes went flying everywhere. However, he knew that dream-spells did not work... so was he saying the spell and the girl magicking it?
Harry stopped thinking about it and decided he’d go to the library tomorrow after class... he turned over on his stomach and fell back asleep, like nothing had happened.
Hermione woke up with a queasy feeling in her mouth, and a very bad attitude. Having found out her father was a wizard (afreak, she reminded herself while brushing her teeth); she was going through a mental war.
On one side, she was happy she had some explanation as to why she made things happen for no reason. On the other, reasonable, logical side, she knew wizards didn’t exist and her dad was a freak and needed to go into the loony bin.
So when she came out of the bathroom, she had decided that Max should tell her everything in order for her to believe him, and if she thought he was lying, she’d call the hospital.
"Mornin’," Max said tiredly from his seat at the kitchen table.
"Good morning," Hermione replied, and took the comics from the newspaper. She was so busy reading the new Garfield that she didn’t notice the owl swoop in through the open window. When she looked up and saw what was making that clucking noise, she fell off her chair with a clatter.
"I’m okay..."
Max looked down at her, and then back at the owl. "Hogwarts?"
The owl hooted, and dropped a letter it had been carrying. Max nodded and said, "thanks," and watched it soar through the window.
Hermione tentatively sat back in her chair and looked at the letter warily. "What’s that?" she finally asked, eyeing it.
"Your acceptance letter to Hogwarts," Max said, flipping a page in the newspaper.
"Acceptance letter to what?" Hermione cried. She ran a hand through her messy hair and yawned. "P-P-Pig sty?"
"No," Max rolled his eyes, "your letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If you don’t believe me, then that should make you a believer."
"You’ve been listening to the Monkey’s again, haven’t you?" Hermione said, narrowing her eyes at her father.
"My records aren’t here yet," he replied without pause.
Hermione sighed and picked up the letter. She then looked at the wax seal, identifying the badger, lion, snake and raven. She then picked up her butter knife and cut open the seal. Two pieces of paper floated onto the table. The first was her letter, reading:
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)
Dear Ms. Granger,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been saved a spot in the fifth year’s dorms at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Due to the nature of your travels, the Headmaster thought it would be best to wait until you were back in England to start your education. Please find the enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term began on September 1, but as that has passed, you are asked to come to Hogwarts subsequent a week you received this letter. We await your owl.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress
Hermione looked up at the letter she read aloud and stared at her dad. Max was smiling slightly.
"So Minnie’s still teaching there, huh?" he laughed.
"Minnie? I’m guessing that’s not Minnie Mouse, Mickey’s girlfriend," Hermione shot. "What’s this junk?"
"JUNK??" Max asked, shocked. He jumped up. "That is more than real, Hermione. That could be your future, if you want it. You could become a powerful witch! You could - " Here her father lowered his voice and leant across the table - "you could learn to curse people and turn them into frogs!"
"Whoopee," she said without any emotion. " ‘We await your owl’... yeah, right. Uno problemo, me no have no owl."
"So we go to Diagon Alley and buy you one." Max suggested.
"The fu—fruits is Diagon Alley?" Hermione sputtered at Max’s stern look.
"The wizarding equivalent to the West Edmonton Mall in Edmonton, Canada," Max answered her, smiling at her face.
"Whoa... that’s the largest mall in the world! And you’re saying this Diagonal Alley is the same size?" Hermione asked in awe.
"Diagon Alley," Max corrected, "and larger."
"LARGER!" Hermione cried. She gathered up her dishes and washed them quickly, placing them in a pile on the countertop. She then stared at her father, who stared back at her.
"Well?"
"Well what, ‘Mione?"
"When are we going?" Hermione asked, gazing at him. Max widened his eyes and gaped at his daughter.
"There’s no turning back once you decide," he said slowly.
"Bring it on," she said with determination. Max nodded and cleared off his plates with a flick of his hand, where Hermione saw a wand.
"That a wand?" she asked, pointing at the stick.
"Yes... twelve and half inches, amber, dragon’s heartstring," Max said proudly. "Excellent in Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"Right," rolled Hermione, and grabbing her leather jacket from its coat hanger. "Let’s boogie!"
She then bounced out the front door, Max trailing behind her. They had until four when the movers were arriving with the rest of their stuff anyway, why not?
"What the hell is this?" Hermione snorted at the floppy sign that read, "THE LEAKY CAULDRON".
"This is a pub that only wizards can see. No Muggle knows about it," Max explained, leading Hermione into the insecure door. "Tom, the bartender, has been here since I was a kid."
"Interesting," Hermione said with a fake yawn. "Where’s all the mumbo-jumbo, Jim?"
"It’s coming," sighed Max. He needed to get her to stop watching those old films on Turner Classics late at night.
Entering, he waved to Tom, who called out happily, "Mr. Granger, absolutely brilliant to see you again sir!" and continue on their way. They went into a courtyard where a wall stood at the end.
"Great. Now what, Einstein?" Hermione snapped. She folded her arms and stared at Max impatiently.
Max pulled out his wand from his matching leather jacket to hers, and tapped the brick, three up and two across. A hole suddenly appeared and Hermione yelped in terror, clinging to Max when he laughed.
"Just the passage way, Herm," he chuckled. Hermione detangled herself and pulled her jacket.
"I knew that," she said, huffily.
Once they arrived in Diagon Alley, Hermione was in awe, running to look at the broomsticks to the apothecary. Max was just dragged along, and when they stopped, he looked ragged.
"Sweet!" Hermione ranted, and grinned. "I feel so energized, like when I’m playing my guitar..." She looked at him. "I can bring my guitar and CD player, right?"
"I’m not too sure about your CD player. Muggle things don’t work when there’s that much magic in the air." Max said, sighing.
"That’s not fair!" Hermione protested.
"Well, I’m sure there’s a spell that will allow you to listen to your music, Herm," Max chided.
"Good," she smiled. "Let’s get my books, okay? And maybe we can pick up some other shi—stuff."
"I need to get you to stop listening to AFI." Max sighed.
"I like AFI," Hermione whined, "Can we just get my books, Dad?"
"Sure," Max sighed. They walked into the dusty Flourish and Blotts, Hermione clutching her letter.
"May I help you?" a voice asked, and Hermione whirled around to see a young wizard smiling at her.
"Uh, yeah," she cleared her throat. "I need my books for my fifth year."
The clerk looked at her strangely, and asked, "shouldn’t you be in school already?"
"I was on vacation," she lied. The clerk bought that and wandered through the shelves with her behind him, listening to the titles.
"You’ll need The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five by Miranda Goshawk; A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot; Defend Yourself Against Evil by Samuel Doer; A Beginner’s Guide to Intermediate Transfiguration by Emeric Switch; One Hundred Magical Herbs and Fungi, Edition Two by Phyllida Spore; Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander and Magical Potions for Intermediates by Arsenius Jigger," he said, pulling books off the shelf as he did so.
Max had wandered over to where Hermione was and helped her carry her books. "Seven basic books," the clerk said. "What are your non-compulsive classes?"
"What?" Hermione paled. "Extra classes next to these?"
"Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes, and Divination," Max spoke up from behind Hermione. She
whirled around to see her father shrugging at her helplessly.
Two words for you, she thought dangerously, dead meat.
The clerk lead them to other sections and plopped three more books in Hermione’s arms, Past, Present and Future by Pres Futrima, Magical Animals and What They Do by Kiore Growl, and The Mysteries of the Runes, by Abdul Odin.
When they left (Max had made a trip to Gringott’s when Hermione was drooling over the brooms), Hermione suggested they go get all her stuff and then head back home.
"Well, what do you think we were going to do? We’re getting you potion stuff next, and then your scale, cauldron and telescope. Then, maybe an owl or cat, and finally your wand," Max reasoned.
"No broom?" Hermione’s face fell. "I wanted to at least boast to Hallie and Mum that I’m a traditional witch."
"Maybe if you’re good I’ll get one for your birthday," Max laughed, thinking of Hermione on a broomstick.
After filling up on her potions at the Apothecary, and getting her cauldron and such from the sister store of it, Hermione dragged her dad into a magical creature store.
She was cooing at an owl that was clearly annoyed at her when a meow caught her attention. Trying to find where it was coming from, Hermione crouched on the ground and looked in a dark corner.
"Meow," came the cat again.
"C’mere Kitty, I won’t hurt you," Hermione cooed in a soft voice. A shadow crept closer until something
rough was licking Hermione’s outstretched finger. A black kitten with oversized ears and a lion’s tail purred at her.
"I want this one," Hermione said forcefully.
"A Kneazle?" Max asked. "We would need a license for it, Mione," Max said slowly. Upon seeing the look of determination cross her features, Max laughed and said, "Alright, alright, you can keep it!"
The storekeeper laughed and smiled. "Will that be all, honey?" she asked.
"Well, what do kneazles eat?" Hermione frowned.
"Mice... small birds," she said offhandedly, and Hermione didn’t worry about it.
"They eat cat food too, right?" she asked.
"Sure. But they prefer wild animals," she smiled.
Hermione paled. "I’ll keep that in mind."