A/N: I've had this one planned for a while and I'm really pleased how it turned out. It's PG-13 because there is a bit of language in it, not enough for 'R,' but it's in there, nonetheless. I'm also sending warning of sexual innuendos and situations- nothing graphic, but I will put it out there.
**This is between the golden trio's fifth and sixth year, during the summer holidays. Harry and Hermione are spending a few weeks at the Burrow, during a 'wizard's bazaar' if you will. Every few years, Ottery St. Catchpole sets up somewhat of a carnival during the summer, with booths and tents and rides for the wizarding community. It is in a hidden location to muggles, somewhere in a field by neighboring woods- similar to the Quidditch Cup Finals in GOF. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all go- checking out what there is to offer. This is from Hermione's pov- who begins the fic by getting her fortune told. If you can't understand the woman's accent, I will gladly translate in any reviews. Happy reading!! : - ) **
HERMIONE'S MISFORTUNE
"Hugo??!?"
"Yees"
"Are you positive?"
"Yees"
"Can you just go over it again, please?" I asked in exasperation, running a hand down my face as my eyes hit the ceiling.
"Joo vill heeve two children. Rose eend Hugo. They vill be the dotter eend son uff jorself eend Ronald Veesleey. Joo and Ronald fall een luff at sefenteen, during the height uff a grate eend terrrreebil vor. Hee captchors jor heart een a room feeled vith trayshure and garbage. Seeled vith a pashionate kees, jor lifes are bound togeether for all eternity, von heart beeting for the o-there.
"Joo ved on opeening day uff the Qvidditch seeson, both riding an antscheeant broomsteek. Joo hofer een the ottum air as the Cannons svirl around joo, just beefor joo fall off eend land on jor oreenge ceeke. Ronald's seester is jor maid uff honor, who sveeps jor buttocks off vith a broom.
"Joo vill beekum an eemployeee uff the Deepartment for the Regulashun eend Control uff Magical Creetures, vorking jor vay up to the Deepartment uff Magical Law Eenforcement. Jor hoosband eend friend- Haree- vill bekum Head Orrors eend safe the vizarding vorld. Joo vill help a few house elfs.
"Ronald eend jorself vill put off haffing children for seex jeers after jor marriage. Jor dotter, Rose, vill haff manee freckles eend foozy red hair, vile jor son, Hugo, ees dark- heeded vith peersing blue eyes, eend has a birthmark reseembling dirt on hees nose."
I stared back with an open mouth at the wrinkled gypsy before me, swathed in every shawl and scarf from here to Timbuktu. Clunky bangles and earrings jingled all over the place with every breath she took, which wasn't many, and I wondered if she and Trelawney shopped at the same store. She looked to be three hundred years old, give or take a century, and had maybe six teeth.
I snatched my open palm off the table, her eyes crinkling as she attempted to smile- or pass gas- I wouldn't know. It was about seven thousand degrees in her little 'tent,' dark and reeking of spoiled salmon raised in a meth lab. I looked around at all the glittering beads and tonics, the fumes from my enclosure finally messing with my brain (or maybe the gas, but then again), and had to get out before I started to hallucinate.
Yeah, that's what I need right now- visions of a five-hundred year old woman hula dancing with a walrus. Naked.
Shudder…
I tossed a galleon on the table and awkwardly clambered out of the stuffy marquee, nearly knocking over a crystal ball as I flung my arm off the table.
"Comb back anee time! Do not brake crysteel ball- cost three hoondred galleeons or first born child! Maybee goat, depeending on breed. Haff a vonderful future!"
Yeah, right.
I didn't even turn back to give a fake smile, I just tore open the ragged curtains and stormed out, making an idiot of myself when I couldn't find the divide. I eventually made my grand departure, the wind whipping through my curly tendrils as I picked up speed, feet pounding the earth like thunder.
I was furious- I paid a whole galleon for that? I had crossed the alleyway, now standing under a large pavilion, and plopped down rather forcefully at an empty picnic table. Laser beams shot out of my eyes as I stared at the tent across from me, heat radiating from my chest to my vision, baking my features in the process.
I watched Harry wave bye to Ginny, a few meters away, and begin to walk in the foul-smelling tent, spotting me just before entering. He must have seen my irritated expression and started grinning like mad, his green eyes twinkling behind golden frames. He raised both his arms and gave me a quick 'thumbs-up' sign, straightening his muggle clothes in a business-like manner before striding into the tent.
Good luck.
I scowled at this, returning my thoughts to the wonderful future that lies ahead. What the bloody hell? I'm going to marry Ron? Ron Weasley? As disturbing as that is, it's not even the worst part. Not only am I stuck with a lanky bumbling git for the rest of my life, but apparently the future doesn't have any worthwhile baby-naming books.
Rose and Hugo??!? Of all the names to choose from on this entire planet, I picked Rose and Hugo. Did Ron name the children? Were we high at the time? I know birth-giving drugs have an effect on you, but surely my mother would have said something. I can maybe understand Rose- that's my Granny Granger's name, after all.
I never really liked her that much- she was always going 'round calling me an odd bird and hitting me with her cane. Why would I name my first born child after her? Maybe she dies, but I would kind of consider that a blessing… For my thirteenth birthday she got me a diet book and a blow dryer. Thanks Granny Granger.
If I were to name my daughter Rose, I would think I would have her with Harry (don't worry, we'll get to that). I mean, his mum's name was a flower and her mum's name was a flower and his aunt's name was a flower- it kind of goes in a pattern. I'd be willing to continue the Evans line- or whatever her mother's maiden name was, makes no difference to me.
And I'd want my daughter to be pretty. From that old bat's prediction she's going to look like some sort of deformed squirrel. Crazy red hair and a thousand freckles, poor girl wouldn't stand a chance in hell. She'd probably have Ron's figure, all tall and lanky, or end up looking like Granny Granger- who had the thighs of a hipogriff.
Is that why we named her that? Because she reminded me of my grandmother!? At least we didn't name her Muriel, although if we end up having another daughter I wouldn't put it past us. I had the pleasure of meeting Ron's Aunt Muriel one time, and she told me I looked like a cross between a goblin and a banshee. Ron said her vision was poor, but I think she's just a bitch. Yeah- I said it.
At least Granny Granger was a little more tactful in her remarks, as equally berating as they tended to be. Well, there was that one time she asked my parents why their son kept his hair so long (I'm an only child) or why I was allowed to eat at the table instead of my food dish. You know, the more I think about it, the less fond I am of my dear grandmother- perhaps she was trying to poison me when she accidentally slipped arsenic in my orange juice…
So, as you can see, something would clearly be wrong with me if I ever named my child anything that remotely resembled my Granny. And don't even get me started on Hugo. What, is he a mad scientist's assistant? Going 'round stealing brains all hours of the night? Does he have a hump? Why would anyone name a kid HUGO? Ron had to have named our children. I must have been severely unconscious when the birth certificates were signed.
Or drunk.
Maybe that's why I married Ron in the first place- completely soused myself at a friend's wedding and woke up the next day with his freckled face in my bra. Ah, doesn't the future look grand.
And hey, get this- we picked the devastatingly romantic destination of the Chudley Cannons' Quidditch Pitch. My wedding cake is flaming orange. And it ends up on my arse. Am I just completely wasted from this point on? Did that mummified thing in there really read my future, or was mine and someone else's confused? Cos she got a lot of names right, I'll give her that. But everything else is highly questionable.
Remember that first day on the train, when I told Ron he had dirt on his nose? Bad karma. Apparently my child will forever have soiled nostrils, taunting me for chiding my future husband oh-so-many years before. Do the 'powers that be' just hate me? Do I end up doing something just ridiculously evil to deserve this fortune?
My son will also look like he's blind. 'Piercing blue' eyes? Does that mean they're albino? What dame's gonna want to tap that? I certainly wouldn't, and he's my own son! Wait, that didn't come out right, don't take it that way- I'm not that disturbing. But evidently I could be in the future, I have the potential.
Blech.
My profession annoys me to the brink of insanity- Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures? What am I, Hagrid? I hate animals, what's that all about? As talented as I am and as much effort as I have put into my schoolwork and education, the best I can do is magical creatures regulation? I had myself pegged for Headmistress of Hogwarts or Mistress of Magic, but no. Crappy creature control. Oh, but I do get to work my way up to Magical Law Enforcement- a wizard cop, if you will.
You might think that actually sounds cool, but trust me, it isn't. You only have to have a minimum of five years of schooling- Hogwarts dropouts recommended- and you just file unfathomable chimneys of paperwork. Meaningless piles of ink-filled parchment, dealing with wizarding lowlifes that wander the streets. Banshee bums and vampire drifters- it's simply dreadful. Why would I, Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley (barfs on shoes), want to pursue a career in something like that?
I'm telling you, it makes no sense. Especially considering Harry and Ron get to be the Head Aurors that save all of humanity, when they can't even finish a measly potions essay without my help. How is it that they get put on a golden pedestal that revolutionizes the entire infrastructure of the ministry of magic, when I get stuck picking up unicorn turds. I just don't understand it.
Where is Ron, by the way? Probably stuffing his face with something at a food stand, pumpkin pasties smeared all over his chin. And that's the man I'm going to marry. I don't see how that's going to work out, considering I'm madly in love with Harry. Did I neglect to mention that? Sorry if I've been a bit preoccupied bashing the inevitable future that looms menacingly in the distance; I don't deem it a selfish act to stop a minute and consider my options before plunging head first down a path of mediocrity.
I'm doing my kids a favor by preventing their existence; I don't know how I'm going to raise a lesbian and a hump-backed grave robber. There, I said it. We were all thinking it. At any rate, that crinkled old harlot- well, I don't know if she's a harlot anymore…maybe a hundred years ago. She might've turned Grampa Granger's head a few times back in the day, but I imagine so could a three-legged beaver if he ended up marrying Granny.
Actually, I think a three-legged beaver would turn my head around, too- even now. Maybe that wasn't a good example…
Oh, whatever! A really ugly woman would have given him a stiffy, you get the point!
Dear god, I'm talking about the inner-workings of my grandfather's pants, Merlin help us all.
Is this where my path of destruction starts? Right now? Sitting here in this god-forsaken pergola, slowly losing the will to live as I evaluate the forthcoming events in my dismal life? Somebody could just shoot me right now, square in the face, and I would actually be grateful. My ghost would thank them on the way to its destination. Probably heaven, because my personal hell is the future I'm about to embark on.
I prop my elbow up on the table and mash my cheek in my hand, glazing my eyes over in hopes of death's pertinent arrival. I feel a presence plop down beside me as I'm greeted by a cheerful face, lightly freckled and absolutely beaming.
"Hi, Hermione! Having fun?"
"Loads."
"Me too! I just love coming to these things- it's like a carnival," Ginny gushed, flipping a long plait of red velvet behind her.
"Smashing," I droned, slowly swiveling to face the opposite direction.
"Had your fortune read?"
I stared daggers at the merry witch before me, my stony glare boring into her bright brown eyes.
"I just had it done earlier, I can't wait!" she squealed, round eyes crinkling with glee.
"I can't imagine."
"Oh, I'm so excited!"
"Do tell."
"I just adore that old gypsy- her accent is simply marvelous!"
"She's a peach," or at least her head looks like one.
"So, you've had it done, then?"
"You could say that," I answered in the gravest of tones, inching my way toward the other end of the table, eyes glued to the tent.
"Mine is an absolute dream, all my fantasies come true! I could kiss that fortune teller-"
I instantly gagged at the thought and my tongue flopped out of my mouth, causing Ginny to snap her head my direction with a look of perplexity.
"Er, uh- went down the wrong pipe."
"Were you eating something?" she asked innocently, scrunching her button nose as she furrowed her brows.
"Purple pumpkin pasty- they're the best," I lied quickly, watching her face jump back to its usual uplifted state.
"Anyway, I think palm readers are brilliant. I have so much respect for the art; it takes true talent to do something like that."
That tears it. I tried to keep my eyes in my head as I buried my face in my hands, slowly sliding them down my features in desperation. What on earth did I do to deserve this? Is this 'give Hermione a heart-attack day?' This date in history was definitely going down as one of the top three worst days of my life, and it's only ten thirty.
"I take it you're a fan of Trelawney, then?" I asked through gritted teeth.
"Oh, yes! Were you ever in divinati-"
"Yes," I spat, the word dripping with venom.
"Well, you must not have stuck with it very long, cos I don't remember you talking about it with Ron and Harry. Poor Trelawney, always being made fun of- I think people are just jealous of her inner eye. That gypsy in there has it too, I can tell. I'm just so happy," she finished dreamily, her tiny mouth melting into a perfect smile.
I wanted to throw up. I came pretty close about four other times today, and if Ginny doesn't watch it I'm going to spew porridge in her hair. She had continually turned the subject back to her 'amazingly wonderful' fortune, just dying for me to ask her what it was. I already had a pretty good idea of the outcome, and it wasn't going to make the day any better by confirming my suspicions. But, I had nothing else to do, so I stupidly inquired,
"So, Ginny, what did the creepy old codger have to say?" I had to say it like that, otherwise she'd be covered in my breakfast, making its ardent reappearance. Or I would at least like to think that was why.
"Oh, Hermione! You'll never guess!" she raved, her eyes sparkling with excitement, "She told me that Harry and I were destined to be together and that we'd have three children and name them after his parents and we'd all live happily ever after at the beautiful Potter Estate!"
I rolled my eyes at this when she wasn't looking, pursing my lips before asking, "So, what was the third kid's name?"
"What?"
"Well, Harry didn't have three parents," I sighed, losing my patience with the bubbly redhead.
"Oh, right…" she said quietly, her face falling as she turned her gaze to the table.
"Well?" I prodded, tapping my fingers on the surface.
"Well, er- Albus. Albus Severus."
You've got to believe me, I tried. I tried so hard to hide my laughter. It was like a balloon had bursted in my chest and giggles streamed out of my windpipe, unable to be contained. I swiftly got to my feet and left the shaded area, covering my mouth with a trembling hand. My whole morning was nearly worth that. Nearly.
I walked over to a booth, near the tent draped in heaps of gaudy fabric, sniggering profusely as I went. I glanced over at the picnic table where Ginny still sat, a grumpy frown planted on her face as she picked at the underside of the table. I grinned for the first time in hours, closing my eyes and reveling in another's misfortune.
I know it's not very nice, quite mean really, but all is fair in love and war. She and Harry must've been completely plastered on the day that lad was born, or will be, or whatever. I don't really care, I'm just tickled that her kid's name is worse than mine. By a long shot.
I waited for Harry to emerge from the tent, pondering what his future would bring. I suppose it would be about the same as Ginny's, but seeing as how I don't have as much experience in the ludicrous art of divination, I really couldn't tell you.
I scuffed the toe of my shoe in the dirt, turning my thoughts to Harry. As much as I hate to admit it, I would love to be in Ginny's shoes right now, her only predicament the bizarre naming of one of her children. Again, do we not have baby-naming books in the future? Do we just have to reuse dead people's names we already know or make up completely off-the-wall ones?
I've liked Harry as long as I can remember- not near as long as Ginny, I'm sure- but I don't have the slightest romantic inclination for Ron. How is it that we end up getting married? Perhaps Harry returns the love that Ginny has for him, and their fortunes come true. What would that leave for me?
Ronald Weasley.
I suppose I eventually settle for a relationship with him, and the average life that comes with it. Sharing our first kiss in a room filled with trash, swapping tales with Hagrid over a couple of firewhiskeys as we tell of the many miraculous beasts we've encountered. It doesn't sound so bad…
I think I'm going to cry.
What does it matter what an incompetent old crackpot has to say? The woman had more gum than Drooble's- and I look for that kind of stuff; my parents were dentists, after all. Just because she spun me some yarn about throwing my life away with a Weasley didn't mean it was actually going to happen. From this point onward I am going to go out of my way to get Harry to notice me. Unless that's what ends up driving him into Ginny's arms…
Damn.
Something fluttered on my left and I snapped my head at attention, just in time to see Harry surface from the marquee. He wrinkled his nose and stretched, facing me as he let out a yawn.
"Well, how'd it go?"
"Fascinating experience. Loved every minute of it. Did you know she's Trelawney's mum?"
"NO!" I said in disbelief, brown eyes bulging.
"Yeah, you're right."
I punched him in the arm as his face broke out into a grin, my knees slightly buckling when I caught his eye, "You shouldn't tell lies, you know."
"That right? 'Snot like you never told one. 'I did it, professor. I was the one who went after the troll…'" he mocked in a high pitched voice, green eyes pointed skyward.
"Shut UP!" I yelled as my cheeks flushed, crossing my arms in a huff.
"Don't you want to know my fortune?"
"No," I said firmly, shaking my head with extra vigor. Though secretly I would have streaked through the town to know what that antique had said.
"Alright then, you seen Ro-"
"OH, fine- yes, I want to know!" I hissed, stomping a foot on the ground as his lips pulled in to a smirk.
"That's what I thought. But I'm afraid I'm sworn to secrecy. So, where's Ron?"
"What? You weren't sworn to anything! I was just in there and-"
"Ah, so you had yours done too, then? Alright, you go first," a wicked grin spread across his face, his eyes alight with roguish laughter.
"You're insufferable."
"I know, 'mione," he said gently, my heart melting instantly.
"Why do you want to know so much?"
"I'm just curious. Maybe they match."
Match- match?? What does that mean? Was I in his future? Did the gypsy tell him something different than what she told Ginny? I tried to retain my composure as my breathing became shallow, my palms sweating rivers and quivering at my sides.
"Er, well- mine was, erm, interesting," I mumbled awkwardly, thinking how un-sexy I looked at the moment. I snuck a glance at Ginny a few meters away, frantically stroking her hair as she watched us.
"Go on…"
I had to think of something else to say other than, 'I marry Ron and become a mediocre pet groomer with extremely unattractive children that have the names of homeless ogres.' Should I make something up? Would he know? I must look really stupid now, standing with my mouth half open outside a gypsy's tent, eyes glazed over as I make up a future for myself. What has my life become?
I somehow imagine that's not the last time I'm going to say that.
"Do you not remember?" he asked playfully, lightly nudging me in the arm as he laughed.
Butterflies danced in the spot where he touched me, my brain surging with notes from a heavenly melody- twirling through my mind in angelic splendor.
"Hermione? 'mione?"
"I marry Ron."
Shit.
"What?"
Why did I do that!? NO!!! Stupid love song- brain shutting down- melody, butterflies, DAMN IT.
"I- I-"
"Is that what the old bat told you?" he asked, cocking a brow.
I have no idea what came over me. All he did was touch me, and it wasn't even in a 'special' place. It would've been one thing if he squeezed my breast or jammed his hand down my knickers and asked, but no. A tap in the ribs with his elbow and my mind goes blank. I'm seriously having a meltdown. That woman put some sort of bad voodoo on me in there, and it's completely destroying my very existence.
I finally nodded my head in agreement, mentally deciding that I was no longer allowed to open my mouth. I watched as his face split in to a grin, releasing a chuckle as he looked in to my pitiful eyes.
"Yeah, she told me that, too. Interesting what all money can buy, eh? Got all our fortunes for ten galleons. Best money I ever spent."
"You knew? And how can that possibly be the best thing you've ever purchased? It was a complete waste of my money and time- wait, all our fortunes?"
"Mine, yours, Ron, and Ginny's- yeah."
"But we weren't all in there, she had to look at our palms-"
"She has a crystal ball," he taunted, rolling his eyes in jest, as if that was everyday knowledge. I suppose it is to Ginny, seeing as how she has much more 'experience.'
"So you marry Ginny, then?" I asked stiffly, pursing my lips out of habit.
"Seems that way," he said nonchalantly, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his trousers and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, "If I somehow manage to take a liking to airheaded witches."
"You don't already?"
"Well, you're certainly not that way," he added quietly, cheeks tinged with pink.
"Does that mean you've taken a liking to me?" I asked with eyes twinkling, feeling bubbles of hope accumulate in my chest.
"You could say that…"
"Are you happy with your future, Harry?" I suddenly asked, watching him stare at the ground.
"My real one, or the fake one?"
"Fake one?"
"Well, you don't honestly expect me to believe a word she said, do you? I've been tuning out Trelawney for years; according to her I should have been dead sixteen times over, give or take. You make your own fortune, Hermione," he finished, gazing intently into my eyes.
I hadn't thought of that…
"I was rather disappointed with mine, no offense to Ron," I admitted, going out on a limb.
"Yeah?"
"I don't really want to get married on the Cannons' Pitch."
"'Course not," he responded, taking on a look of concentration as his eyes searched the dusty ground. We stayed quiet for a while, an awkward silence settling in around us. I bit my lip and tried to look at anything but Ginny, watching me like a hawk as she braided her hair.
"Would you prefer the Wasps'?" he asked abruptly, startling me out of my trance. I crinkled my forehead in confusion, turning to face him, and my cheeks flushed a veil of scarlet.
His eyes met mine before flickering to his wrist, sporting a watch with his favorite Quidditch team-
the Wimbourne Wasps.
I let out a deep sigh and took a step closer to Harry, a small smile appearing on his face as I approached him. I leaned into his lips, hovering momentarily before brushing past his cheek, sending tiny chills down my spine. My nose touched his ear, instantly warming the spot before I whispered,
"As long as you catch me before I fall in the cake."
He wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me off the ground, creating a cloud of dust as we spun around the alley. Both of us beaming like idiots, we took one another's hands and acquainted our lips, feeling the soft sensation of pleasure radiate through our bodies.
I have never felt happier in all my years of existence, and today went from the absolute worst to the best I've ever had. We walked hand in hand, swinging them lazily between us, and bumped into nearly everything for staring into each other's eyes.
Ginny could be seen with mouth agape under the pavilion, hair half-braided and looking like Pippi Longstocking slapped with a DUI. It was as if someone socked her in the stomach and let a squirrel run loose in her hair, eyes on the brink of escaping their sockets as her tongue lolled around in her mouth. What a vision.
Ron waved at us from a distant booth, trying to give a wolf whistle through a mouth full of pumpkin pasties- I told you. We laughed and strolled onward, sunlight warming our faces as we dawdled in the day. Harry was right, you do make your own fortune- and I found mine in the palm of my hand, lacing his fingers with my own.
A/N: Well, how was it? I made Ginny a little ditsy in this one, but it had to be done for later in the fic (sorry Ginny fans!!). I know that's not quite in character for her, but sometimes I still see her as that little eleven year old that follows Harry around with a singing valentine ; ) Be that as it may, I sincerely hope you enjoyed it, and would LOVE to hear what you think! I know it's another 'palm-reading' story, but I originally had the ending to "Love Lines" and "Hermione's Mis-Fortune" all as one fic. I later decided to split in into two, because I just love writing Hermione rants (sheepish grin). Please review!!!
<3 lilymione1203