Chapter 2 - Muggle Studies
So it was, then, that the following morning found the five Weasleys and their two guests down at the end of the back garden, clustered around George and his trunk, saying their goodbyes.
“Let’s make this quick,” George urged, “before Ron here starts blubbering.” Turning quickly to Ginny and Hermione, thereby missing his brother’s glare, he kissed both girls lightly on the cheek, giving Ginny’s arm an extra squeeze. He next faced his father and tightly gripped his hand, both men adding a hearty shoulder slap to the handshake.
“You’re sure you’re not going to be lonely, George?” Mrs. Weasley asked, dabbing at her eyes with the edge of a tea towel she’d draped over her shoulder.
George sighed. “Mum ...” he said, his tone chiding, though Harry could tell he had tempered it, knowing full well the affection behind the question. “I have three employees and I’ve told you umpteen times, Lee’s joining me this week. How on earth can I be lonely?”
“But you’ll be “”
George pulled his mother into a tight hug, effectively quieting any further concerns.
Lastly, George turned to Ron and Harry. Seizing them both by the shoulder, apparently preparing to embrace them, he instead leaned in close and, looking them straight in the eye, hissed, “And you two ... remember, do everything I would do.”
With that, he grabbed the strap of his trunk in one hand, raised his wand with the other, and spinning in place, was gone.
Ron and Harry exchanged a grin at George’s last words, and then turned towards the house. One by one, the others followed suit.
What transpired in the hours remaining until the second departure of the day, was a bustle of activity of gargantuan proportions as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Harry, and Ginny packed for their likely week-long excursion while Ron and Hermione prepared for their venture of unknown duration. Tasks that had been started the previous day were hastily completed: clothes chosen, trunks packed, needed items found or repaired or conjured, and the house was cleaned as Mrs. Weasley insisted on not returning to a tip in seven days’ time.
It was nearly tea time when the six of them congregated once again at the bottom of the garden, trunks and suitcases waiting beside them.
“Right, then,” Hermione said, “remember, we need to land precisely onto the back verandah. Knowing our neighbour, she’ll be peering into everyone’s gardens at this time of day, and she’ll definitely see us if we Apparate anywhere else. She’s got eyes like a Hippogriff and we’ll never hear the end of it if we’re spotted.”
The others, suddenly nervous, all murmured their understanding.
“I’ll go first with Ron,” Hermione continued, “but I think it would be best if you take Harry, Mr. Weasley, and Ginny goes with Mrs. Weasley.” She stared down Ginny’s protest. “I know you’re good,” she assured her friend. “It’s Harry I’m thinking about.”
“Cheers,” Harry muttered sarcastically, but good-naturedly, knowing full well he was still pretty pathetic at Apparating.
Only a few minutes later, the six of them had appeared precisely in the area Hermione had dictated. Hermione, though, lost her footing and slipped down the first step, preventing herself from falling onto the grass only just in time by grabbing for the railing.
“Who’s there?” immediately demanded a voice from the neighbouring garden. A white-haired head popped into view over the fence separating the two properties. “Oh,” the woman said, and Harry marvelled at the almost disappointed edge to her tone, “it’s you, Miss Granger.”
“Hello, Mrs. Lancaster,” Hermione replied. “Are you well?” Harry was surprised at how bright his friend’s voice could sound despite being forced out through clenched teeth.
“Oh, the arthritis is bad, dear,” said Mrs. Lancaster. “Can’t hardly move my legs at times.” She sounded remarkably pleased at this. “Parents still not back yet?”
“No, no,” Hermione informed her, “still on holidays you know ...”
Mrs. Lancaster made a distinctly-disapproving ‘harumph’ sound at that. “Back in my day, we didn’t go gallivanting about the countryside for months on end.”
Hermione murmured something non-committal and turned to head back up the steps. “Well, I suppose I should “” she began.
“I imagine it must be difficult to maintain the back garden to its usual standard, with your father gone?” Mrs. Lancaster asked, apparently attempting a sweet tone that she couldn’t quite pull off.
Facing the Weasleys and Harry, Hermione rolled her eyes dramatically before addressing her neighbour again. “Well, I have been at school, you know, Mrs. Lancaster. I’ll work on it this week, though. Not to worry.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she muttered, “You old hag.”
“All alone?” Mrs. Lancaster murmured doubtfully.
“She’s not alone,” Ron suddenly piped up, stepping into view.
“Oh, Ron, no,” Hermione hissed at him. “Don’t.”
Why not, he mouthed at her before stepping forward and giving the old woman a wave. “Mrs. Lancaster, is it?” he said. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Ron, Hermione’s boyfriend.”
Mrs. Lancaster’s eyebrows shot up well under the sparse curls of her fringe. “Boyfriend?” she repeated, gleefully. “Miss Granger,” she said, and turned a disapproving look Hermione’s way, “don’t tell me you and this young man are living in this house “ alone “ without your parents’ knowledge, or consent?” She sounded absolutely delighted at the very idea and Harry suspected she was imagining the sort of mileage she could get out of such a juicy bit of gossip.
“That’s why,” Hermione muttered so only her friends could hear. Before she could address her neighbour’s sordid theory, Mr. Weasley had spoken up.
“Of course not,” he said firmly, pulling Mrs. Weasley with him into Mrs. Lancaster’s line of sight. “I’m Arthur, and this is my wife Molly. We’re Ron’s parents. And chaperones,” he added stiffly. “We’re here to see Hermione (Harry noticed he wisely mentioned only her name) off at the flightport to “”
“Airport,” Harry whispered.
“ “ airport,” Mr. Weasley corrected without missing a beat, “to join her parents.”
“I see,” Mrs. Lancaster replied, and Harry marvelled again, this time at the disappointment on her face. Clearly this was a woman who was only happy if there was something to complain about or seamy business to imagine.
“Well, we should get in,” Hermione remarked, “must be teatime by now ...” They made their goodbyes and after a frantic search for the door key, Hermione let them into the house with an exasperated sigh.
“Pleasant neighbour,” Ginny remarked.
“She’s just horrible,” Hermione fumed. “She drives my mother mad. She’s such a foul-minded, hypocritical, meddlesome, grousing, underhanded, sneaky “”
“No need to sugarcoat with us, luv,” Ron said, putting an arm around her, and they all laughed.
“Don’t worry about that cow,” Ginny advised. “She’s not worth it. Bit sad really. Getting thrills from bits of gossip. Pathetic.”
“Yes,” Molly agreed, as she put her suitcase down with everyone else’s, “best to ignore someone like“ Oh!” she cried, taking in her surroundings. “What a lovely kitchen!”
Harry had no argument. Although not usually too keen on decor himself, he had to admit that the bright and sunny room with its oak cabinets, smooth counter-tops, and polished copper pots and pans hanging above the large centre island, was very tastefully-done.
“Thank you,” Hermione replied, dropping her handbag onto the island and looking around as if seeing it with new eyes. “Mum and Dad both love cooking so they wanted an area that would accommodate them.” She suddenly wrinkled her nose with distaste. “The air’s a bit stale though, isn’t it?” Before anyone could respond, she hurried to one of the vast windows in the room, the one in front of the large double sink, and quickly unlocked it, soon throwing it wide to allow as much of the early evening breeze as possible to waft indoors.
Turning to her guests once more she announced, “Shall we have a grand tour? Before we think about a meal?” Suiting her actions to her words, she had soon headed out of the kitchen. “This way,” she tossed over her shoulder, already on her way to a flight of stairs the others could just see through the doorway.
They all trooped behind her, murmuring their agreement, with the exception of Ron, who loudly proclaimed that he, for one, would much rather see about a meal first. He was ignored.
As Harry followed Ginny out the door, he reached for her hand. She smiled back at him before leading him from the room.
It was some twenty minutes later that the six returned to the kitchen, their circuit of the Grangers’ modest yet elegantly-decorated three-bedroom, two-storey home complete. Hermione had started up the water and plumbing system, sleeping arrangements had been made, and the luggage stowed accordingly. Arthur and Molly, despite their protests, were to take Mr. and Mrs. Granger’s room, on Hermione’s insistence; Hermione and Ginny would share Hermione’s room; and the two young men would bed down in sleeping bags on the sitting room floor, as the third bedroom was used as the Grangers’ office and Harry and Ron had been uneasy at the thought of disturbing the dentists’ home work area. Mrs. Weasley seemed relieved that the young couples were to be located on separate floors, but before Harry could reflect long on this, Hermione had marched to the sink, washed and dried her hands, and pulled open the refrigerator.
“Right,” she said, “let’s see what we can do about“” She broke off abruptly before uttering a distinctly-rude word.
“Hermione!” Ron yelped, half-shocked, half-proud at her choice of language.
She apologised immediately.
“What is it, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked.
Hermione swung the door wider, revealing the almost-completely barren interior. “There’s nothing to eat,” she announced, in case anyone wasn’t grasping the situation. “And there are no tins either. I forgot I emptied everything out when Mum and Dad left.”
“What?” Ron cried, hurrying to her side, not willing to accept her interpretation of the matter. “What about those?” he asked, indicating the few bottles and jars of condiments gracing the shelves of the fridge.
“Oh, yes, Ron. Good show,” Hermione snapped at him. “Prepared mustard on Branston pickle for six, then, is it?”
“There’s no need to get shirty!” Ron retorted. “Just trying to“”
“Perhaps we could pick something up?” Mrs. Weasley suggested quickly, obviously trying to prevent the flaming row they could all sense was brewing. She shot a meaningful look at her husband.
He caught on immediately and began rummaging in the pockets of his Muggle trousers for his money bag. “Yes,” he agreed. “Must be some shops still open ...”
Hermione shook her head. “Thank you, but no. There are plenty open, but they’re all Muggle ones. They don’t take gold.” She frowned, lost in thought, and when she spoke again, it was more to herself than anyone else in the room. “Okay, there’s no money in the house. And it’s Sunday, so the banks are closed.” She suddenly glanced at Harry hopefully. “I don’t suppose you have any money?”
Harry shot her a look. “Hermione, when have you ever known me to have any Muggle money?”
She exhaled forcibly. “I’m such an idiot. Why didn’t I think ...” Her voice trailed off into a muttered stream of self-admonitions.
After many moments of silence, Harry suddenly blurted out, “Bank machine!”
The others turned to Hermione, unsure what Harry had meant, but eager for a possible way out of the situation. Hermione shook her head again, more miserably this time. “No card.”
Harry could sense the disappointment of the others. “I don’t suppose any local restauranteurs would be willing to extend you credit?” he offered feebly.
To his surprise, Hermione’s face lit up. “Credit, that’s it! Harry, you’re a genius!”
“You have a credit card?”
She was happily nodding now. “For emergencies. Mum and Dad wanted to be sure if I needed anything ...” She turned to head out the room again. “I’ll have to see if I can find it, though. Harry, would you mind terribly calling for some take-away? The numbers should be by the phone.” They could hear her hurrying up the stairs before she called back down, “Make sure to ask if they take Easy-Charge, won’t you?”
Mrs. Weasley was frowning in puzzlement. “Was I the only one that didn’t understand any of that?”
“Nope,” Ginny assured her before turning to Harry. “What’s credit?” She paused before adding, “And take-away?”
“You’re going to get some food, right, mate?” Ron demanded.
“On the telephone!” Mr. Weasley exclaimed, beaming.
Harry chuckled at their reactions as he made his way to the small table in the hall upon which sat the telephone, a notepad and pen, address book, and a collection of neatly-stacked restaurant advertisements and menus.
“Yes, Ron,” he quickly assured his friend, “we’re getting some food.” Then, as he rummaged amongst the papers on the table to find a suitable menu, he explained to the others what take-away was and how credit was used by Muggles as a method of payment.
When an assortment of Indian take-away dishes had been ordered and Hermione had located her credit card, she, Ron, and Mr. Weasley (who insisted on tagging along to witness the Muggle transaction) prepared to leave to pick up the dinner. While Ron and Mr. Weasley waited in the front hall, Hermione hurried into the kitchen where the others were to snatch her bag off the centre island.
“Harry,” she said, as she buttoned her thin cardigan and tucked her Easy Charge into her bag, “can I get you to start researching some flights to Australia while we get the food?”
Harry frowned at her. “Research how?” he asked, as somewhat disturbing visions of expansive libraries with endless stacks of books popped into his mind.
She indicated the computer sitting on a table in one corner of the kitchen. “On the Internet,” she clarified.
He shook his head. “You know I’m not much good on those,” he reminded her. “I’ve never had much practise.”
Hermione smiled. “That’s not a big issue,” she said, and booted up the machine. “You can use this ...” With a few quick flicks through a small hanging file holder, she extracted a sheet of paper and held it out to Harry. At his frown she explained, “It’s a step-by-step guide to using the Internet.”
“You wrote this?” Harry asked, staring down at it.
Hermione shrugged. “Of course.”
“Oi, Hermione!” Ron called from the hall. “Are we getting this food, or not?”
“Coming!” she replied and hurried out of the room.
Bemused, Harry shook his head as he stared down at the sheet of paper containing extremely detailed instructions. “You’d think I’d be used to her by now ...” he muttered before glancing up at Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. “Pull up a chair,” he said with a small sigh. “We’ll see if we can muddle through this together.”
They ended up doing much better than simply muddling through. Later that evening, after the three couples had all enjoyed their meal of various vegetable and meat curries, rice, and roti, they settled into the comfortable armchairs and sofas in the sitting room, while Harry and his research partners outlined what they’d discovered on-line. He handed Hermione a sheet of paper he’d managed to discover how to print. Her face lit up only to fall immediately at Harry’s words.
“There aren’t any flights over the next few days ...”
“What about these?” Hermione demanded, pointing at the first notations on the list.
“Well there are some,” Harry conceded.
“But they’re a lot more expensive,” put in Mrs. Weasley.
“And take well over thirty hours,” Ginny added. “One of them even goes through Canada first.”
“What?!” Ron cried. “Did you say thirty? Are you completely mental? I’m not sitting in a plane for that long! I know Muggle transport isn’t instant, but thirty?”
Harry ignored Ron’s spluttering, his focus completely on Hermione’s crestfallen expression. He was quick to add, “If you wait just a few more days, though, as early as a week from today even, you can get a shorter, cheaper flight.”
“Really?” Hermione asked. “Leaving from ...?” She quickly scanned the list. “Heathrow,” she said, answering her own question rather dejectedly.
“Is that bad?” Ginny wanted to know. “It seemed a fairly good deal.”
“Heathrow’s massive,” Hermione said. “I was hoping for Manchester or Birmingham, they’re much easier to get around, and I’ve been to both many times.”
“Not to worry, my dear,” Mr. Weasley reassured her, “I’ve had some business myself there, back when I was heading the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Spells and Protective Objects. I’m sure we’ll manage.”
Hermione didn’t look entirely convinced but rose from her chair and said, “Well, I may as well get back on-line and book them right away, before someone else takes them ...”
“No time like the present,” Mrs. Weasley agreed, following her from the room. The others could just hear part of her last comment as she went: “And I’ll note the price so we can suss out how much to ...”
“Don’t do anything without me!” Mr. Weasley called, hurrying after them. “I want to see how this whole In-Connect works! It sounds tremendous!”
Ginny and Harry exchanged a smile at his usual enthusiastic response to anything Muggle.
“Thirty hours?” Ron cried again. “Thirty?”
By the time everyone began wandering off to bed, later that evening, Hermione and Ron had managed to secure two open-return seats from London’s Heathrow Airport to Sydney, Australia, scheduled to leave in a week’s time. They had also made preliminary on-line enquiries regarding accommodation near the Sydney airport.
It took Harry quite a while to find a comfortable position on the floor that night, but once he was finally settled, he could feel himself starting to drift off. His dreams that night were full of neighbours that screamed at him through the computer, waving forks of rice and curry at him.
The next morning, after a scrumptious meal prepared by Mrs. Weasley (Hermione had picked up some things from the grocer’s the previous evening), Hermione commented that she should clean up the house to be ready for the anticipated return of her parents.
“After so long without it being lived in,” she said, “I’m afraid the house is looking a little grotty. I’ll have to spruce it up a bit.”
“With our help,” chorused Mr. and Mrs. Weasley immediately.
“Yeah, we’ll all chip in,” Ginny added while Ron and Harry nodded their agreement.
Noting the gorgeous summer day out the window, Harry quickly offered, “Ron and I can get started on the back garden, weeding and pruning, if you like.”
Hermione looked reluctant to take him up on the offer, probably not wanting to put them out, Harry suspected, but remarked, “That would help to get the Lancaster woman off my back ...” she mused. “Well, if you’re sure ...”
Harry and Ron started heading for the door when Hermione told them, “Tools are in the shed. Don’t worry about the grass, there’s a man that comes to do that.” The young men were already on the back verandah when she called to them, “And remember not to use magic!”
Ron turned to Harry as they descended the verandah steps and set off down the garden path. “Tools? No magic? What, is she mad? This’ll take ages without any spells.”
“Keep your voice down!” Harry hissed at him, with an anxious glance towards the fence separating the Grangers’ property from Mrs. Lancaster’s. “Do you want to cause trouble for Hermione? We do this without magic.”
Ron grumbled to himself as Harry opened the shed and found trowels and secateurs, but he accepted without complaint the tools Harry passed to him.
“So, how does one do this without magic, then?” he asked reluctantly.
“One weed at a time,” Harry replied grimly and knelt before the closest flower bed, which was almost completely overgrown with unwanted plants. “One weed at a time.”
Back in the house, Mrs. Weasley offered to clean the curtains and upholstery.
“As we’re hidden from view inside the house, I presume it’s alright to use magic in here?” she asked her hostess. After Hermione’s nod, Mrs. Weasley turned to Ginny. “And you can help me, dear. Many hands, you know.”
But Ginny was shaking her head vigourously. “Not likely!” she snorted. “I hate dusting and cleaning, you know that. I’ll work in the garden with Harry and Ron.” She turned on her heel.
Mrs. Weasley sighed and rubbed her fingers vexedly across her forehead at her daughter’s reaction.
“If you don’t learn how to clean, what on earth will you do once you leave home?” she called after Ginny’s retreating figure, plucking her wand out of her pocket.
Unseen by Mrs. Weasley, Ginny caught Hermione’s eye and winked at her before hurrying out the door. “Not too fussed, actually,” she muttered to herself once she was out of her mother’s earshot. “Harry’s rather proficient at cleaning house.”
As soon as the door had shut behind Ginny, Hermione remarked, “I suppose I should start on the carpets.”
“With a hooverating machine?” Mr. Weasley asked eagerly.
Hermione smiled fondly at him. “It’s called a Hoover, but yes,” she said.
“You don’t mind if I help you, then, do you?” Mr. Weasley asked.
“Of course not,” Hermione assured him and she led the way to the cupboard in the hall where the machine was kept.
“I’ve always wanted to see how they work,” Mr. Weasley said. “It is true that a little Muggle animal sits inside and sucks the dirt and dust into the machine?”
If Hermione was amused by the question she hid it very well. “Actually,” she said, “there’s no animal. Inside this canister“” She pointed. ““ a vacuum is created. This forces any dirt and dust beneath this “” She indicated the nozzle at the end of the hose. “ “ to be blown into the machine, with air that is trying to get inside the vacuum, to a storage bag in the machine.”
Mr. Weasley seemed even more intrigued by the scientific explanation than his animal theory. “Fascinating!” he breathed, somewhat in awe.
Meanwhile, despite Ron’s earlier grumblings, the three outside were making quite a lot of headway. As Ron swept the garden paths, Harry pruned some small bushes near Ginny, who had weeded a large section of one of the flower beds.
Harry was enjoying himself immensely. Although no stranger to gardening and other outside work, having been forced into it at the Dursleys’ too many times to count, this was the first time he’d offered to garden. He found that made a lot of difference to his attitude. Of course, he thought suddenly, with a glance at his girlfriend, it’s the first time I get to do this with someone I love. Feeling his face grow hot at his private realization, he quickly turned away from Ginny.
She took that very moment to remark, “You’re quiet.”
Harry forced himself to look at her again. “I suppose. Concentrating.”
Ginny stood up and indicated the bush he had been working on. One side was much more crooked than the other. “Yes,” she said with a small snort, “I can see that.” She caught his eye and he could have sworn he saw a twinkle in hers.
“Thinking of something else?” she asked, with suspicious innocence.
Harry’s neck felt rather hot in the glare of the late morning sun. To cover his embarrassment, he pointed at her cheek. “You’ve got some dirt.”
“I do? Where?” she asked, trying to wipe it off with soil-stained gloves, only succeeding in smearing more onto her face.
Harry chuckled. “Here,” he said, brushing it away with his thumb. His hand remained cupping her face after the dirt was gone, and he had soon leaned in to kiss her. She eagerly returned it and Harry pondered briefly that as enjoyable as working side by side with Ginny was, snogging her in the summer sun far surpassed the gardening, but she deepened the kiss, and he was quickly unable to form coherent thoughts. Just as he reached his arms around her to draw her closer, though, he heard Ron snarl behind him.
“Oi! Get out of it you two!”
Harry sighed deeply at the interruption. Rolling her eyes, Ginny brought her mouth to Harry’s ear to mutter, “He cannot leave soon enough for me.” Aloud she snapped at her brother, “You never change! You’re still such a hypocrite. Tell me that wasn’t you who snuck into our room last night for a little snogging yourself!”
Harry’s eyebrows shot up at this tidbit of information and he wheeled to face his friend. Ron had turned a marvelous shade of fuchsia. “I thought you were asleep,” he mumbled.
Ginny snorted and Ron hurried away, muttering something about finishing the sweeping.
When he had gone, Ginny smirked at Harry. “I was asleep,” she confessed, with a grin. “But he forgets, Hermione and I talk.”
Harry made a mental note to remember that in future and returned to the plant in front of him.
After a good four hours spent in the garden, the three of them had made tremendous progress, Harry just hoped it would pass the critical neighbour test to which he was sure it would be subjected. As they headed towards the house, anxious for a meal and rubbing their sore arm and back muscles, Ron began complaining again. “Blimey! Muggle methods take ages, don’t they? And for no return.”
“I think we’ve got quite a lot done, thank you very much!” Harry retorted hotly. “Or at least some of us have,” he muttered pointedly.
Ignoring the jibe, Ron shrugged and ran up the steps and into the house without bothering to reply.
Ginny stopped Harry with a hand on his arm. “Don’t mind him. The only things he thinks are worth the time are eating, sleeping, and snogging. In that order.”
“And you?”
“Well, as pleasant as some of those activities are,” she began, her eyes twinkling at him again, “my interests tend to be a little more varied. I happen to think we got a lot done. And I rather enjoyed it. I know the Muggle way often takes longer, but it somehow ... I don’t know, I think it sometimes means more.” She shot him an anxious look. “Does that sound daft?”
Harry, thinking suddenly of digging Dobby’s grave by hand, could at first only shake his head at her. “No,” he said eventually, “not daft at all.”
The rest of the week past in a similar fashion, with the six of them preparing the house and garden for the Grangers’ anticipated return, and ensuring that things were organized for Ron and Hermione’s trip to Australia. It was only on the last evening before their scheduled flight that a problem arose.
Hermione was putting the last touches on her packing and had gathered the tickets and her passport to be ready for the following morning. Harry was sitting at the computer with Ginny and Ron while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were finishing the washing up from their evening meal and generally tidying the kitchen when Hermione let out a ear-splitting shriek that made the rest of them all jump.
“Bloody hell, Hermione!” Ron yelled at her. “What was that for?”
She was waving her passport manically at them. “Passport!” she screamed. “Passport!”
Harry frowned at her. “What about it? It’s right there in your hand.”
“Yes. Mine is,” she trilled.
Harry hadn’t heard her. “It’s not expired, is it?”
But Ginny was starting to figure it out. “What do you mean yours is?” she asked suspiciously. “Does Ron need one, too?”
Hermione simply nodded mutely at her friend, seemingly devoid of further words.
“Damn,” Harry muttered, having caught up..
“What are we going to do?” Hermione wailed, her speech returning with a rush. “He can’t leave England or enter Australia without one. And we leave tomorrow!”
Ron had risen and crossed the kitchen to stand next to her. “Hermione,” he scoffed, his hand gripping her shoulder. “Come on, are you a witch, or aren’t you? Make one.”
“Make one,” she echoed, her voice flat.
Mr. Weasley had picked up the document that Hermione had tossed with disgust onto the centre island and was examining it with his wife. “Yes,” he agreed, nodding. “This shouldn’t be too difficult to produce.”
Hermione looked from Ron to his parents and back again. “But ... wouldn’t that be against the law?” she asked.
Ginny’s forehead creased. “Which one? Do you honestly think the Muggle law books include a statute about not creating a false passport through magical means?”
“Of course not,” Hermione said. “It’s rather just the principle of the thing, isn’t it?”
“We’re all pretty much law-abiding people here, Hermione,” Harry put in, “but what choice do you have?”
Hermione didn’t speak for a few moments, presumably allowing that to sink in, Harry thought. When she did, she sounded determined. “Right,” she said, literally pushing up her sleeves and reaching for her wand. She turned to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. “What do I need to do?”
As Happily Ever After As They're Gonna Get by cjbaggins
Chapter Notes: Many heartfelt thanks to my wonderful husband for his explanation of how a vacuum cleaner works.
Astute fans (aren't you all?) will recognize Ron's line to Hermione - "Are you a witch or aren't you?" - these are, of course, Ms Rowling's own words. I'm just borrowing them.
As always, I'm also borrowing these characters (except Mrs. Lancaster, and you can keep her). I'll put them all back, I promise!