Dan Granger was in his comfortable chair enjoying a Sunday morning spent reading quietly with his wife. That hers was the latest medical journal while his was the latest tabloid bothered neither in the slightest. He was just shaking his head in wonder at the outrageous headlines when he heard it, a high-pitched squeal from somewhere up above. The sound of a door being thrown open was quickly followed by a herd of rampaging wildebeests rolling down the stairs and bouncing off the walls as it went.
One particularly wild wildebeest chose to make the most fantastic of entrances by leaping the last several steps and landing in the most undignified fashion by stumbling to a halt, its mane streaming along behind it and young face alight. That this wildebeest was his daughter only puzzled him slightly. He had been encouraging her to let her inner Granger out more often and just be herself but he certainly didn't expect it to be such a smelly thing and certainly hoped it was housebroken.
His daughter saw her mother and instantly went into Protective Puckle Mode, face blank and body rigidly erect. This smaller Puckle model had the added feature of Proud Defiance though, so her head was held high as if daring its predecessor to do its worst.
"Since when do we allow running through the house?" Puckle Prime asked her daughter, glancing up from her reading with one eyebrow raised in a most Vulcan-like way.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Puckle," the little Puckle replied with a false smile in place as if its razor thin edge could cut. She never referred to her mother as her mother any more. A new development, now it was always Dad and Dr. Puckle. "-I didn't know you'd be here," his daughter explained. "I was under the impression you had a surgery to perform," she said formally.
"I had one scheduled," Puckle Prime responded, "but the man died last night from injuries sustained in the collision and continuing as planned seemed a moot point."
He couldn't miss his wife's eyes glance down to what was absentmindedly clasped in Hermione's hand. Into the presence of this strong young bull his little Puckle had mistakenly brought the bright red of a matador's cape in the form a half-eaten Bournville bar.
He cleared his throat slightly and ruffled his tabloid, hoping to get his daughter's attention. She glanced in his direction long enough for him to shoot an urgent warning about the danger she literally carried with her. The Bournville shifted slightly and the color drained from the little Puckle's face as she realized what she'd done. Rather than hide it or flee, his little Puckle did the only thing she could.
"Well, don't let me disturb you," she said as dignified as she could before withdrawing the rest of the half-eaten candy bar, stuffing it in her mouth, and giving it a good chew before walking away.
'The girl is mad,' he thought. 'And I like it. Wizarding world watch out!'
The girl in question only got a few steps before Puckle Prime had to get the last word.
"Make sure to brush your teeth."
The girl seemed to cringe for a moment before she disappeared into the kitchen.
'Hang on,' the man thought, 'that's tacit acceptance. Did Hermione just win against the Puckle?'
The Puckle glanced in his direction and he gave her his widest wan smile, clearly meant to convey an 'I made that' sense of pride as he got up to follow his daughter, leaving his tabloid behind.
As he got to the door-less entry into the kitchen he found the open fridge door blocking his way and he stood still and tried to control his breathing lest it tip the little Puckle off to his presence. He loved this part. The fridge door quickly closed, his sudden appearance scaring the life out of the girl as she jumped in alarm.
"Don't do that!" the shocked little Puckle said as she calmed herself and rinsed the overwhelming taste of chocolate out of her mouth by drinking skim milk she commandeered from mother's supply. "I hate it when you do that."
"But it's so much fun," he said, "and I can never sneak up on your mother."
His daughter rolled her eyes and shook her head at him.
"Well?" he prompted.
"Well what?" she asked in return clearly not in the mood to talk anymore.
"Well, are you going to tell me why you went 'Eeeeee!' and decided to do cartwheels down the stairs?" he asked hoping to inject a bit of humor into the situation. "Or should I just guess?"
His daughter looked interested in finding out how good of a guesser he was.
"I take it you got a response?" he asked in a way to solicit more information.
"Yes," she said neutrally, rinsing out her glass in the sink and setting it out to be properly washed. Though she had turned her head away from him, he couldn't help but notice the tiniest upturn tugging on her lips.
"And the result was favorable?" he continued.
The war to keep from smiling intensified, and was finally lost as she blushed.
"He said he'd like to get to know me too," she informed him.
The father beamed. The daughter huffed and rolled her eyes again.
"You can go ahead and say it," the little Puckle said.
"Say what?" he asked, as if he honestly didn't know where she was going with this and truly hurt she thought he'd mock this momentous development.
"Go ahead and say 'I told you so,'" the girl said. "-And I should have just talked to him myself in the beginning."
"Oh, pish, why would I say 'I told you so,'" he started somberly, "-when saying 'I was right' sounds so much better?" he finished smiling. "But!" he interjected to keep his daughter from leaving in a huff too soon. "Now that you've won against the Puckle, what are you going to do with the rest of your summer?"
The little Puckle looked inwards as it reviewed its databanks on the last encounter with her predecessor.
"Is that what winning looks like?" she asked.
"The dreaded Dr. Puckle saw you cram an entire bar of chocolate in your mouth and all she said was 'Make sure to brush your teeth'?" he reminded her. "That's either you winning or her way of saying you've been fighting against a barn door the entire time."
She seemed to think for a moment.
"I choose to win," she declared.
"That means I can eat candy," the dentist smiled.
Hermione looked up at him as if puzzled this was all her great victory over her mother meant to him.
"Well if you can, I can," he explained. "Go team," he said, giving her the 'thumbs up' gesture.
The girl gave her father a look saying she had severe doubts about whether she was actually related to him or not.
"I told Harry we'd be going to Diagon Alley the Wednesday after we get our list of school supplies," she said changing the subject.
"Ah, on Wednesday," he said sagely. "-The only day of the week this month your mother can't go anywhere."
"Oh, was that Wednesdays?" she asked innocently. "I must have forgotten."
"You know it's Wednesdays. Feigning ignorance was never your strong suit."
"Well, you wouldn't want to make me into a liar, would you?" she asked.
.....
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