Rating:
PG
House:
Riddikulus
Ships:
Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Characters:
Hermione Granger
Genres:
Humor General
Era:
The Harry Potter at Hogwarts Years
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire
Stats:
Published: 10/09/2002
Updated: 10/09/2002
Words: 3,232
Chapters: 1
Hits: 3,425

The Permission Slip

PeterMurray

Story Summary:
Hermione Granger takes a permission slip home to her parents, but has a lot of trouble keeping them on the subject, without them picking on every little near-fatal incident from her first four years.

Posted:
10/09/2002
Hits:
3,425
Author's Note:
The Prophylaxis Potion referred to came from Barb's Psychic Serpent series, and the name has been used with her permission. Thanks to my beta–reader, Anne, especially for spotting the missing things that weren't obvious except to me. I've assumed for this story that Harry, Ron and Hermione will all be aged 15 at the start of the school year in book 5; since Hermione's birthday is in September and Ron's is in March, they'll be turning 16 before the end of the school year, but Harry won't. Terms like "hospital wing" are used to match the UK, rather than US, editions, as they're the ones I have.

The Permission Slip

Hermione took the permission slip from her trunk, took a deep breath, and went downstairs to her parents' office. As expected, her mother was in there, putting some files away.

"Can I ask you something?" Hermione asked, closing the door behind her.

"Of course," replied Mrs Granger.

Hermione sat on one of the chairs round the work table and put the piece of parchment in front of herself. "We were given another permission slip at school, for you or Dad to sign."

"Well, what's this one? Another place to visit?"

Hermione almost laughed, but didn't want to have to explain to her mother the mental image, of being a place that Ron could "visit", that had just occurred to her. "Not exactly, no. It's ... it's for me to be given a potion if I want to use it."

"What sort of potion? Is this some sort of medical experiment? They shouldn't be using pupils for something like that!"

"Oh, no, it's a tried-and-tested one. It's called Prophylaxis Potion; it, well ... it's a contraceptive."

Her mother turned to look at her. Hermione was blushing. Mrs Granger put down the rest of the files and sat down. "Do you mean, you need it?"

"I haven't yet," she said, hoping to reassure her mother on that point at least, "but, as I'm going to be sixteen next month, I thought, in case, well ... I wanted to go out with a boy... you used to say that you hoped I'd always feel I could talk to you about anything."

The door opened again, and her father came in. "Oh, am I missing something?" He noticed the piece of parchment on the table and picked it up. "Another permission slip to visit somewhere?"

"Er --" began Hermione, wishing the mental image would go away. Her father had read the permission slip by now anyway.

"What's 'Prophylaxis Potion' -- oh; it'd be what it sounds like?"

"I'll be sixteen next month, and there's a boy at school, who... well -- if we get closer, I might need it," said Hermione defensively.

Her parents looked at each other, but didn't say anything. Her mother suddenly rose, got a file and took some pages from it. Both her parents sat down.

"What's that?" asked Hermione, who could see the pages were covered with notes in her mother's writing, but couldn't read them, as they were upside down and on the other side of the table.

"It's some notes I made from your letters," replied her mother.

Hermione just looked puzzled. "What have my letters to you got to do with this?"

"Patience. Right; in your first term at Hogwarts, you were scared by a giant three-headed dog, and you were attacked by a troll. You never went into much detail about that, but I don't suppose you're talking about a troll like your green-haired plastic one, or the pencil toppers?"

"No; it was bigger and angrier -- but Harry and Ron saved me, and we became really good friends."

Her father raised his eyebrows. "That's not in the tabloid sense of 'good friends', is it?"

"What? Oh, no; it's taken Ron three years even to notice I'm a girl, and invite me to a dance -- and then he didn't believe someone else had already asked me."

"So it was Harry that asked you?" her mother inquired.

"No, it was Viktor Krum. I told you about him."

"Oh yes. The Quidditch star. Three years older than you. So he'll be nineteen when you have your birthday."

"He's not at Hogwarts. It's not about him."

Her mother went back to the notes. "Then you had a nice quiet term, then you helped smuggle an illegal dragon hatchling out of the country, and then you went back to the giant dog with all the heads, a giant plant attacked you, you played a chess game where real injuries happen to taken pieces -- and your friend Harry was nearly killed by the most evil Dark Wizard ever."

Hermione grinned ruefully, "Maybe I should write more about the teachers and the lessons."

Her father frowned at her, as her mother continued to look at the notes. "Oh yes, the next bit was buying stuff for your second year at school. First we got taken for a drink by that crazy wizard who collects plugs -- which was nice of him, but still --"

Hermione was trying to work out who she meant. "Ron's dad? He's not crazy, he's just very enthusiastic about non-magical things."

"Whatever -- then there was that appallingly vain teacher of yours and his books, and then that brawl in the bookshop ..."

"None of that was my fault! And Mr Weasley didn't attack Mr Malfoy until he insulted you, remember?"

"Actually, no. It must have made more sense to you; we were just feeling completely out of our depth. It wasn't your fault, true, and you didn't have any control over what happened. We still had second thoughts about letting you go back to the school after that, though."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "You never told me that!"

Her father said, "We discussed it, and decided that it just couldn't be as bad as we were thinking, if you were so keen on the school."

Her mother waved the notes. "Next was a party full of ghosts -- which is weird, but seems to have been harmless enough -- pupils being attacked by a monster that your friend Harry was supposed to be letting loose --"

"Harry was innocent -- I knew he had nothing to do with that!"

"OK, fine -- then, for the first time, you didn't spend Christmas with us; instead, you somehow turned into a half-cat, half-girl thing, but you got better. Then there's a bit about all the new subjects you were going to take, and then -- then your letters just stopped."

She put down the notes, and her husband put his hand on hers, and squeezed. Hermione looked down at the table.

Her mother continued, "The next we heard was when the deputy Headmistress wrote to say you'd been turned to stone -- but should be better soon -- and the Headmaster had been relieved of his duties. What were we supposed to think after that? I know it's not your fault -- I'm sure you couldn't have written to us yourself in that state. But that was a dreadful time."

Hermione stood and hugged her mother. "But it wasn't anything to do with the Headmaster, it was just an excuse for school politics."

"OK," her mother said quietly. "Oh, and your friend Harry rescued Ron's sister, and was nearly killed by the most evil Dark Wizard ever. Again."

"It never seemed that bad at the time; does it really sound like that from my letters?"

"Anyway, next time you had to buy school things, we dropped you off and avoided meeting any wizards."

"Oh. I didn't realise that was why -- oh well."

"Then one of your teachers foretold your friend Harry's death," her mother continued. Hermione snorted at the memory.

Her mother looked up at her, still hugging her lightly. "Well, someone obviously believes it."

Hermione sat back down. "Professor Trelawney is a fraud. That's why I gave up Divination. Arithmancy's miles better."

"Then someone in your class was attacked by a monster -- that was the boy whose father was brawling with Ron's father?"

"Yes, Draco Malfoy."

"And then a convicted mass murderer attacked the area where you spend half your time..."

"He didn't hurt anyone! He just wanted to get evidence to prove his innocence."

"... and your friend Harry fell off his broom playing Quidditch and went to hospital ..."

"Not a hospital, it's the hospital wing at Hogwarts -- where I was when I was half-cat, and again when I was Petrified."

"... and then you stayed at school over Christmas again because of your friends, and they wouldn't speak to you for most of the holiday, and you had a miserable time."

Hermione couldn't disagree with that one.

"Next the mass murderer attacked your friend Ron in his dormitory -- and suppose you'd been there at the time?"

Hermione blushed a deep red. "Mum! There was no chance of that!"

"What about next term?"

Hermione had trouble meeting her mum's eyes. "I don't really think so --"

Her father joined in, "But you might?"

"Ron would have to get a bit more observant," she said quietly.

Her father held up the permission slip. "So this'd be for Ron's benefit?"

"For my benefit! Hopefully with Ron, yes."

"Aha!" said her mother, making her feel she'd blushed an even deeper red. There was a pause, and then her mother looked at the notes again.

"So, next you were confronted by the mass murderer, a werewolf and the assistant to the most evil Dark Wizard ever, and your response was to knock out one of your teachers."

"The werewolf was also one of our teachers," said Hermione defensively.

"And that makes everything so much better."

Hermione laughed. "What is this really about? I mean, it started with that permission slip, and now you're going back through all four years I've spent at Hogwarts."

"Wait and see," teased her mother.

Hermione suddenly stood, and turned pale. "You're... you're not going to take me out of Hogwarts? You can't! That's it, isn't it -- the permission slip doesn't matter, because you aren't going to let me go back!"

"Calm down! No, we're not taking you out of that school," said her father. "It's true that we have considered it, but," he shrugged, "what would you do? You can't transfer to any other school we know about, because you haven't learnt any normal subjects." He shook his head, frowning slightly. "Despite the way it all sounds, you do seem to be happy there, and coping with all this strange stuff."

"Oh. Good." Hermione sank back into the chair, her sudden tension released.

Her mother returned to her notes. "After that confrontation, you were attacked by out-of-control prison guards, you then used some sort of magical time travel to release the monster that attacked your classmate, and you used the monster to free the mass murderer. Oddly, your friend Harry didn't almost get killed by the most evil Dark Wizard ever that year, or even his assistant, but the prison guards attacked him instead."

"I wish you wouldn't pick out all the bad bits," said Hermione.

"How am I supposed to view you and your friend being almost killed in a good way?" asked her mother. Hermione couldn't think of a tactful answer to that.

"So then you actually spent time with us in safety, and then went to stay with Ron's family to watch the Quidditch World Cup. What could be safer? A whole family of wizards, at a massive, public sports event. What are the chances that Dark Wizards would run amok and you'd actually be blamed for a while?" She looked at the notes. "Oh -- one-in-one, apparently. But then you went back to school and had a fairly safe year. You wound up organising an elves' rights movement, which sounds really odd, but safe at least. Oh, and your brace finally got your front teeth under control -- just like magic."

Her mother looked up again, and raised her eyebrows at Hermione.

"Well ... I told you what happened there -- and that curse wasn't even aimed at me. I had to get it reversed, after all; you didn't see how long they got."

"Hmm," was her mother's response. "Well, at least that seems to have worked out all right." She looked back at the notes again.

"Your friend Harry was forced to compete in a tournament he wasn't old enough to enter, and he was almost killed by the most evil Dark Wizard ever, but I suppose he's getting used to that, much like end-of-year exams."

"That's not funny!" said Hermione. She thought it wisest not to mention Harry hadn't had to do the end-of-year exams that year, and that they were cancelled in their second year, which made his almost getting killed a more regular event than his exams.

Her mother looked up from the pages, with a serious expression on her face. "No. I know it's not funny. We almost dread opening your letters now. At least we know if it's your writing on the envelope you must be still alive." She looked back down at the pages. "You did apparently get yourself written about in various publications, and not very favourably, but there weren't any trolls attacking you. Then you had a fight with your friend Ron about being invited to the Yule Ball at school."

"We got over that," said Hermione.

"So we gather," commented her father, looking down at the permission slip in front of him.

"The only other thing was that you were made unconscious by a spell, and tied to a statue to be rescued by this Viktor Krum, as a part of that tournament. That's a bit Neanderthal, isn't it?" asked her mother.

Hermione giggled. "Maybe." She was glad she hadn't said in her letter that the statue was underwater.

"Still, one of the other champions was a girl, so I suppose there was a boy for her to rescue."

"No -- she had to rescue her sister."

"So all four of the rescuees were girls? Hmmm."

Hermione shook her head. "Harry had to rescue Ron."

"What?" asked her father.

Her mother looked over to him, then back to Hermione. "Are you sure Ron's interested in you? I mean, there's nothing between Harry and Ron? You never know -- and you do hear these things about pupils at boarding schools."

"Mum! They've been friends for ages, that's all! I couldn't exactly be rescued by two different people, could I?"

"I suppose not. But, he hasn't really noticed you, he didn't invite you to that dance, and the three of you are just platonic friends? I don't think you're going to need this potion after all."

"It's not like that!" she protested, hoping it really wasn't like that.

Her father suddenly thought of something. "Why is it only the girls that have to go through this embarrassment of bringing home this permission slip? It sounds to me as though the boys get the benefit," his wife frowned at him, "and none of the embarrassment." He looked at his wife. "You know what I mean, even if it's not just 'lie back and think of England' any more."

Hermione looked from one parent to the other, and then answered him, "I think there is a potion for boys too; it has disease-prevention in it, but not contraception. The girls' one has both, just to make sure. I think Ron had a permission slip to take home too -- Harry didn't, though, as he won't be sixteen until after the end of the next school year."

"Oh, OK. That's fair enough then. When's this Ron's birthday?"

"March -- the first."

Her father considered that. "So you're the older woman, and he's your toy boy? Are you going to wait until he's sixteen too?"

"I suppose so," Hermione replied, not rising to the bait.

"I'd prefer it if we'd met this boy," he added.

"We'll probably meet up in Diagon Alley to buy next year's school things," she said. "But if you do come with me, please don't go on about the permission slip."

"We wouldn't do that!" said her mother.

Hermione remembered something: "You have actually met him; you just mentioned his father."

"Oh yes," said her father. "I remember there were two boys. One had glasses ..."

"That was Harry."

"... and the other one looked like a matchstick. So Ron's the matchstick?"

"He's not a matchstick!" said Hermione indignantly.

"Tall and thin, with a red head like an unstruck match?"

"That doesn't make him a matchstick!" she protested, unable to resist his teasing.

Her father grinned back at her. "OK, so we did meet him -- once -- three years ago. When we dropped you off at that wizard house last year, we only met Molly Weasley; was Ron one of the ones she said was flying behind the house?"

"I think so, yes."

Hermione thought back through the last few things everyone had said. "You must be up to date now with reading through that list -- you've gone through all four school years. What does it have to do with the permission slip? You already had the 'don't have sex unless you really love someone and have taken precautions' talk with me, and the permission slip is about precautions."

Her parents looked at each other, and her mother reached over, took the slip and read it. "We're -- I suppose we're trying to make a point. You keep blushing about this permission slip -- you're doing it again!"

Hermione frowned. "Well, did you ever have a conversation like this with Grandma? Or with both Grandma and Grandpa? Didn't you blush then?"

"Actually, no; I never did have a conversation about contraception with them, or anything similar to this." Hermione thought her mother looked almost regretful. "And I am glad that you feel you can have this sort of conversation with us, even if you do keep blushing. But -- hasn't anything odd occurred to you in this whole conversation?"

"You've been avoiding the subject to talk about everything else that's happened to me in the past four years -- I noticed that."

Her mother grinned. "This permission slip is about the most normal thing you've done in those past four years!"

"What?"

"Didn't that occur to you? Being attacked by trolls, getting turned to stone, being taught by a werewolf, and attacked by Dark Wizards?" She picked a pen off the table and signed the slip. "At least this is one thing that's normal: a teenage girl who's thinking about boys!"

"You signed it!"

Her mother handed her the slip. "Now this is one thing that we don't have to worry about. You are sure this is effective -- you don't want a nice, normal, non-magical supply of pills? And you will ask whoever hands it out for some before you... do anything?"

Hermione looked at the name "Amalthea Granger" on the slip, almost in amazement. "Yes, yes of course I'll ask for some. If the potion wasn't effective, would they be giving out these permission slips?"

"I suppose not. But you're sure you'll ask? The way you keep blushing doesn't reassure me!"

"I think it'll be less embarrassing asking Madam Pomfrey than talking to my own parents about this," Hermione replied with a smile. "Thanks, Mum; thanks, Dad. I'll go and put this with my school stuff so I don't forget it."

Back upstairs, Hermione opened her trunk and tucked the permission slip happily into her bookbag, next to the parchment on which she'd been practicing her mother's signature for the past week. She made a mental note to wash the ink off that parchment later, when her parents weren't around to notice.

Then she just sat for a while, and remembered how Ron looked and spoke, and some of the things they'd done together over the years, without her mother's interpretation of the events.


Copyright © 6/10/2002, Peter Murray
Peter Murray