A Year to Remember

By Ange de Socrates

Disclaimer: Not mine. Not now, not ever. J.K. owns it all (except for my plots and characters, obviously).

SPOILERS: Harry Potter 1,2,3,4,5

PAIRING: RL/HG

Chapter One – Look Who's Coming for Breakfast

IN A LARGE HOUSE in the suburbs of London, on the second floor, in a bedroom painted white with burgundy trim, on a bed with a squashy feather comforter that was of a matching red, a girl with not-so-bushy hair slowly opened her eyes. She stretched, yawned, and swung her legs over the bed, cursing as she jammed her toe on her huge bookcase, which was filled completely, of course.

"Hermione Granger!" a voice said sternly from outside the door. "Watch your bloody language!"

"Sorry Mum," Hermione grumbled sleepily, rubbing her throbbing toe.

"Hurry up and get ready! Your father and I have some things to go over with you."

"Be right there." Hermione shuffled into her private bathroom and closed the door. She walked up to the mirror and stared at the reflection.

Last week, in a rather spur of the moment decision, Hermione had decided to undergo a slight makeover in the interest of her future career with the Ministry of Magic. If she ever wanted a job as a spokeswitch for the Muggle Affairs department, Hermione reasoned, she would need to look a bit more professional and mature to best represent the Ministry.

She had grudgingly marched to a beauty salon while still second-guessing her logic, where she'd had her hair tamed into waves, gotten a manicure and pedicure, had makeup technicians swarming around her, and was presented with numerous beauty products along with instructions for their use.

Hermione looked grumpily at herself one last time and then sighed. If it would give her an edge in the job search, as various periodicals and self-help books claimed, then she supposed she could spend a few extra minutes getting ready in the morning. To be honest, she didn't care far too much about what she looked like – as long as she had her beloved books, all was well in the world

She slipped off her boxers and baggy sleep shirt before stepping into a hot shower. She let the steamy water run over her body, letting her mind wander back to the defining moment of her Hogwarts career.

"HERMIONE! THERE'S an owl for you!"

Hermione dashed down the stairs and ran toward the owl that was perched on the kitchen chair as if it held the answers to all of life's questions, and the poor creature raised its wings in a defensive manner. She yanked the strangely early letter away from the owl, patted it on the head a bit roughly, and pulled out a chair to read it. Before the distraught owl could decide whether or not to attack Hermione, her mother tossed it some bread and shooed it away.

Hermione held the letter in her hands, soaking up the moment. Every year, she was overcome with joy when her Hogwarts letter came.

"Why?" Ron had asked once.

"Because I sometimes think that they'll stop letting me come because I'm a Muggleborn," she had replied.

"That's silly, Hermione!" Harry had exclaimed. "They wouldn't send their best student packing."

"I suppose…"

Now, Hermione held the thicker than normal letter in her hands, ready to tear it open. She peeled the wax seal off and let the contents fall onto the table. The regular letter of admission came out, but so did another, slightly smaller, letter.

Hermione scanned the annual letter, pleased, and then opened the other one. She was shocked to have a shiny badge fall onto her lap that read "Head Girl". Stunned, she read the accompanying letter, handed it silently to her mum, and then let out an uncharacteristic hoot of joy.

"HERMIONE! FINISH up in there!"

Hermione snapped out of her daydream. She blinked a few times, and then got busy. She quickly washed her hair with her new shampoo and conditioner and stepped out of the shower to towel off.

Ten minutes later, Hermione emerged from the bathroom, looking quite refreshed but a bit more made-up than her old self. She glanced at the mirror that hung beside her cherry armoire and snorted. The lip-gloss was fine because it barely tinted her lips. It was the blush that really got to her. I don't need any of this ridiculous stuff! she thought. I have a natural blush! The eye shadow, luckily, was almost non-existent. It matched the color of her skin perfectly, only giving off a faint shimmer.

"Hermione!"

"Two minutes!" Hermione threw open her armoire. "Someone's impatient this morning," she muttered. "And every other moment of the day, I suppose."

She picked out a pair of jeans and a black ribbed tank top that the saleswoman at the mall had assured her were "very hip, very cool." Hermione quickly dressed and dashed down the stairs in black ballet 

flats, which she loved simply because they were the only new shoes she had purchased that didn't have any sort of heel.

"Finally!" her mother scolded, sighing dramatically.

"We thought you'd drowned in the shower!" her father teased, pulling her close for a hug.

"Still alive." Hermione sat down at the kitchen table and pulled a placemat in front of her. Hermione wasn't the only one who had gotten a makeover – earlier in the summer, her mum had completely redone the kitchen in various shades of brown and cream. Quite honestly, the only part of it Hermione liked was the granite counters.

Her mum placed a plate in front of her that was stacked high with various fruits and nutritional foods, a harsh contrast with the bountiful breakfasts served at Hogwarts. Hermione stared at it, deciding not to say anything for fear that her mother would be insulted. Her father gave her a knowing look as he, too, was given a plate full of the offending foods.

"Now, Hermione," her mother began, bustling around the kitchen like a madwoman. "Your father and I are going out of town again this summer."

"Convention?"

"Yes, and don't interrupt."

"Sorry."

"We leave tonight. We would have told you earlier if we had known."

"They just called us this morning," her father added between bites.

"So, do you want to come with us, or do you want to stay at the Weasleys?"

"Can't I stay here?" Hermione asked.

Her mother looked at her as if she was crazy. "And let you burn the house down? I don't think so!"

"Now, now, Lydia, I think Hermione is perfectly capable of staying on her own."

Lydia gave her husband a piercing glare. "Why are you always taking her side, Christian? Why?"

Hermione tried not to laugh as she pushed her granola around her bowl.

"Hermione can stay on her own, Lydia. You know she can, I know she can, she knows she can. Just give her a few rules, and she'll be fine."

Lydia sighed and threw her hands in the air, defeated. "Fine. But you'd better follow the rules, or else," she threatened, wagging a finger in Hermione's direction.

"Don't worry, I will," Hermione said quickly, hoping her mother wouldn't suddenly change her mind.

"Okay. Go get some paper." Lydia only waited a moment before she began counting the rules off on her fingers. "No having parties, no going to parties, only drive when it's necessary, don't swim at night, don't watch TV after ten, go to sleep by eleven, make sure you turn the stove off when you're done, call us every once in a while–"

"We won't have reception in that part of Germany, love," her father pointed out, giving Hermione some time to write down the rules.

"The hotel doesn't have phones?" she asked sternly.

"Oh. Well, I suppose," Christian said sheepishly.

"No drinking, no drinking and driving, feed your owl, eat healthy food, and, finally, no magic!"

"All right, all right!" Hermione breathed, exasperated. "You didn't have this many rules when you went to Italy!"

"That's because you had your cousin with you," Lydia retorted, waving a wooden spoon at her daughter. "Now go. You need to do some grocery shopping before we go."

"I think I'll go to Harrods – we're out of a few delicacies," Hermione said, taking her purse off the counter and fishing out her keys.

"Sure, go ahead. But next time, just go the local store or you'll eat us out of house and home. Now give me a kiss."

Hermione kissed her mother on each cheek and hugged her father before going outside and jumping in her car. She put the key in and listened to her baby start.

"Beautiful," she whispered, running her hand over the leather seats. This gift from her parents was, as yet, the best thing that had come out of her becoming Head Girl. It was a black 1965 Ford Mustang convertible. It had been her dream car ever since she had run out of reading material and perused one of her father's car magazines.

Hermione rolled down the windows and put down the top, feeling the warm summer breeze on her face as she slowly pulled out of the long, winding driveway. As soon as she hit the main road, she pushed down on the gas and let her pony fly.

In twenty minutes or so, Hermione had reached the heart of London. She wound her way through the traffic, grinning as she saw some American tourists staring helplessly at their map. It was the typical bunch: a husband, wife, eight-year-old boy, and five-year-old girl. Hermione laughed out loud as the wife yanked the map away from her husband and thwacked him on the back of his head with it.

After observing the group for a bit more, the traffic began to move, and Hermione was forced to tear her gaze away and continue onward to Harrods.

Upon arrival, Hermione parked her car a few blocks away and walked back to the entrance. She took the elevator up to the groceries and began to pick out her favorite foods.

I suppose I'll need pasta, she thought, trying to decide between the fresh ziti and the fettuccine. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a man staring at her from under his hat. She frowned and turned away, subconsciously touching the spot in her purse in which she kept her wand. She hurried along and finished her shopping, and then she headed out to the shoe section.

Hermione wandered over to a table with a display of boots, as she was in dire need of new snow boots for the harsh Hogwarts winter, and picked out a pair. "Sir, can I see these in an eight?"

"Straight away, miss." The short man took the boot and scurried off to the storeroom. Hermione sat down to wait for the clerk to come back, and as she did, she saw the mysterious man watching her from behind a shoe rack.

"Here you are, miss." Hermione jumped as the man returned.

"Thanks," she replied, taking the box from him and trying to slow her heart. He nodded and walked off to help the same American family that Hermione had seen on her way there.

Hermione opened the box and pulled out the boots, keeping an eye on the mysterious man as she tried them on. She walked to a mirror and stuck her foot out, viewing them from all angles before deciding that she liked them. She put them back in the box and went to the sales counter to buy them.

The clerk at the register eyed the boots warily, obviously questioning her sanity.

"What?" Hermione asked impatiently, digging out her wallet.

"Nothing," the clerk replied. "Isn't it July, though?"

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "And?"

"Oh, nothing," the squatty woman repeated. She rang up the boots, and Hermione handed her the money.

Hermione walked out to her car and threw her bags in the trunk. There was no sight of the man with the fedora, but she moved quickly anyway, just in case. She located her wand in her purse, pulled it to the top, got into the car, and drove away.

Only minutes later, Hermione was at her favorite restaurant: Richoux. She parked the car and walked in. The waitress took her to her usual booth by the window and brought her a cup of coffee, a plate of toast, and a newspaper. Hermione smiled and thanked her, and then opened up her paper to read about the latest happenings, hoping to see something concerning magic. She had already become lonely without her friends and professors.

Hermione sighed and took another sip of coffee. The war had certainly taken its toll on her and her friends. Harry had been forced to grow up far too quickly; in fact, everyone had been. Even she felt older 

than her age. There had been so much death on the final day. Wormtail had died, along with many more Death Eaters. However, Lucius Malfoy was alive and well…

Hermione shuddered and crossed an arm over her chest defensively. She refused to think about him anymore – he wasn't worth the time or energy. She turned her mind back to her paper and coffee, scanning the stocks before turning to international news.

The bells on the door jingled, and she heard the waitress seating the newcomer behind her. She ignored the stranger as she continued to read.

"Bit early for snow boots, isn't it?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned around, her hand fumbling to grasp her wand as inconspicuously.

"Why are you following me?" she snapped, seeing only the back of the fedora-man's head.

"Because I thought you might help me," he replied cheerily, turning around.

Hermione gasped and smiled. "Professor Lupin?"

A/N: I'm really enjoying going back through this story – aside from the grammatical and continuity errors (which have, hopefully, been corrected), it's not too shabby!

I'm going to continue reading and reposting each chapter one by one, and hopefully I'll have enough energy to whip up a new chapter once I've finished. And hopefully you all will still be interested in reading! I realize I've abandoned you (again), and I do apologize. However, writing has been shifted quite high up on my list of priorities, so I'm back in action and ready for some new chapters – and even a few new stories!

In the works – a sequel to Teaching Mr. Black, an uncensored version of Botched Potion on AFF, and a few small fics to be posted either here or on AFF, depending on how raunchy I'm feeling.