AN: Some people were offended by my request for 30 reviews. I really don't understand why, because:
A: I did not do it in a `fishing for compliments' attitude, nor for any attention seeking reason.
B: The reason I did do it, was because my story has a lot of hits, but it's the same people who review. I wanted to update two chapters today, instead of my customary one, and I wanted to find out if it would be worthwhile.
C: The only reason I could think of that would make it worthwhile, is if enough people would appreciate two chapters being uploaded, so I had to find out how many people would appreciate me breaking my one chapter daily stride.
I apologize if anybody took offense, and I won't request reviews again.
*
Chapter Eight: Discoveries and Revelations
Hermione stood by the window of the living room later that afternoon. Harry had gone to look upstairs, and in the other rooms off the hall. Sean had suggested that he should go alone, and Hermione, not wanting to be more of an intruder than she already had been, quickly agreed. Harry had looked at her oddly, but acquiesced with a shrug of his shoulders. He then left through another door that led into the hall. Sean had excused himself, saying he was eager to get to the village for some lunch, and that he would be back by dinnertime.
Hermione had paced the room at first, but this disturbed the dust and made her sneeze, so she returned to the kitchen for a broom. Cleaning was a bit of compulsive habit of hers, and she was just about to start sweeping the living room when a thought stopped her.
Would Harry be angry with her? This house had been undisturbed for over a decade, and it wasn't her house. Was it her place to clean it?
Yet the feeling of neglect was so strong that she reasoned this room could do with a sweeping. Harry should have come home to a happier place than this, and the dust made it so gloomy.
So she swept the floor.
It was a nice floor, she noticed, wood with a large intricate rug in the center. The dust lay so thick on the rug that it was easily picked up by the broom. She used a vanishing charm on the pile and looked around the room. The clean floor looked so out of place with the rest of the room, she noticed.
She wondered if the mantle over the fireplace would look better clean.
So here she was, two hours later, the room completely dust free, the rug cleaned and the furniture polished by a blend of charms and elbow grease. She had left the rocking chair until last, knowing that if Harry would be angry with her for cleaning anything, it would be that. But it looked so forlorn, sitting all alone by the window, she found she couldn't just leave it like that. If Harry got angry at her, so be it, she thought fiercely, scrubbing at it with a rag. (The kitchen had more cleaning supplies than the broom)
When she went into the kitchen to put the broom away, she noticed that its floor was very dirty too.
After she finished cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom, except for the dishes on the table, she moved to the hallway, cleaning the glass of the picture frames with a wet washcloth, polishing the frames. She noticed as she was sweeping the hall floor, that the eyes of the portraits no longer looked so judgmental.
She returned to the living room, wiping her sweat damp bangs from her eyes. She went to the window and opened the linen curtains, sliding the window up a crack, standing in front of it and letting the breeze blow across her flushed face. She could easily understand why Lily would have chosen this spot to rock her baby. The scent of the roses gave the room a pleasant fragrance, and the sun shone on the floor at her feet. The view was of the front garden, and the fountain which was still very popular with birds. Lily would have rocked her baby to sleep with the smell of roses and fresh air in his nose, birdsong in his ears, and sunshine on his face.
Without realizing what she was doing, Hermione sank into the rocking chair with a sigh, letting her arms drape across the armrests. In her left hand was the bottle Harry had asked her to keep for him. She laid her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes in utter peace.
*
Harry had discovered the nursery.
The crib stood next to the window, a mobile with miniature broomsticks, snitches, and Quaffles attached hung from the ceiling above it.
Harry figured that must have been his dad's idea.
He walked around the room, opening the drawers of the dresser and marveling at the tiny clothes inside. He even discovered a set of small Quidditch robes on top of the dressing table, next to a photo of his dad on a broomstick, holding Harry in his lap, while in the distance Lily was running towards them across the grass, shaking her fist and yelling something obviously uncomplimentary. Harry laughed as he realized it must have been Sirius or Remus taking the picture. The marauders would have been frequent guests here.
He looked in the crib and caught his breath swiftly at what he saw.
It was nothing remarkable, but the memories it brought back overwhelmed Harry.
It was a teddy bear, dark brown and with one eye missing. Its fur was stiff and spiky in places from all the times its owner had sucked and teethed on it. Harry had a sudden vision of lying on his side, looking into a cloud of brown fur, and a ticklish feeling on his tongue as he chewed the bear's arm.
He reached into the crib and picked it up. Raising it to eye level, he stared at the thread poking out of the place where its eye must have been, and closed his own eyes as another memory besieged him.
"Where'd its eye go?"
"What do you mean where did its eye go? It's obvious he swallowed it."
"Nonsense Lily, how could a baby swallow a button that big?"
"He inherited your big mouth, it doesn't surprise me one bit."
"Ouch. How do you know it didn't fall off somewhere?"
"Go look for it then-- the next time you change his diaper. He swallowed it, you mark my words. You know he loves to chew on that bear, James."
"Still, I'm going to keep an eye out for it."
"Oh? You're volunteering to change his diaper for the next few days then?"
"Har de har har. I meant on the floor, it must have fallen off somewhere. Big mouth or not, I don't believe a baby could have swallowed something that big without choking."
"Shows how much you know about babies, then. He swallowed it."
Harry held the bear to his face. It smelled familiar, a mix of furry fabric and baby drool.
He looked around sneakily. No one was watching him, so he put the corner of the bear' paw in his mouth and bit down gently.
He smiled.
It even tasted the same.
*
The four poster bed was large enough to fit at least six people. It had black and red hangings, silk sheets, and the pillows were so large it would have required to complete donations of a dozen geese to fill just one of them.
A lacquered wardrobe stood next to the door, its doors open, filled with traveling cloaks, coats, boots, and a Quidditch uniform, meant for an adult male.
Harry fingered the robes as he stood in his parent's bedroom. It was a beautiful room, wooden floors, thick woolen rugs, comfortable furniture.
He took a pair of Quidditch boots from the floor of the wardrobe. His dad's feet had been a size larger than his, so he didn't try them on, even thought the temptation was strong.
A second wardrobe and dresser stood on the other side of the open wardrobe. Harry opened the doors of the second. This one had a mirror on the door, and was full of dress robes. A pair of dark green robes caught his eye. His dad must have looked good in green, too.
A box rested on the top shelf, labeled Wedding. Intrigued, Harry reached up and lifted it down. He carried the box over to the bed and opened it. Moving aside the layers of tissue paper, he slowly reached inside and withdrew a veil, a dried corsage and boutonniere, and blushed at the sight of a lacy garter lying at the bottom of the box. He replaced the lid and returned the box to its place in the wardrobe, turning his attention to the other clothes inside.
Apart from the pair of green robes, there was also a pair of red, black, navy blue, and white, that Harry guessed James must have worn at his wedding. All of his dad's robes were in a similar, functional style, while some of his mother's robes were obviously meant for fancy parties. Harry gawked at a set of royal blue robes that he knew his mother must have looked stunning in.
A sudden vision of Hermione in her dress robes at the Yule Ball came to him. It merged with the mental picture of his mother, until Hermione was dressed in royal blue robes, her hair framing her face, smiling…
Harry shook his head. He shouldn't be entertaining those sort of thoughts, he told himself sternly. If Hermione ever knew he had thought of her that way, even for a second…The blush that spread across his cheeks confirmed what he thought she would think of him.
The dresser contained everyday clothes. He lingered over his dad's t-shirts, the faded logos of Quidditch teams on their fronts. His dad had apparently been very fond of jeans, as there seemed to be more pairs of denims than there were any other articles of clothing. Harry lifted a pair out of the drawer and held them up against himself. His dad had been taller than he was, fatter too, thought not in the sense Dudley and Uncle Vernon were fat. Fat in the sense that he actually got his teeth around good square meals more then ten months out of the year.
The dresser top had a mirror attached to the back, and was covered with jewelry boxes, bottles of perfume, a mannequin bust like you would expect to see in a jewelry store, displaying a beautiful emerald and gold necklace and earrings. Harry could imagine his dad presenting them to his mother, probably commenting that they matched her eyes.
He opened the drawers of one of the jewelry boxes, picking up a locket that contained a picture of a much younger James than Harry had seen in the photo he had found in the nursery.
Maybe she did love him, even then, he thought.
He shut the drawers and turned his attention to the bed, feeling a lump rise in his throat. Dudley had often woken his aunt and uncle by bouncing on their bed in the mornings. Harry had always wondered what it would have been like, to go running into his parents room and jump on the bed until they got up to make breakfast.
Feeling a sudden urge, yet not wanting to fight it, Harry took a short run and leaped into the air. He came down face first on the large mattress, chuckling quietly to himself.
Another memory.
"Are you sure it's safe for him to sleep with us?"
"Of course it is. This bed's certainly big enough, and I don't like the idea of him being down the hall from us when he's been so colicky. What if he chokes?"
"If he didn't choke on that button, I don't think he'll choke on his own spit. But you're the boss. Put him here."
Hands laying him down on a soft comforter, fingers tickling his hands and feet, giggles coming from his own mouth, interrupted by coughs and a burning in hi s throat, hands smoothing over his forehead, running through his hair, a feeling of complete and utter safety as he closed his eyes and yawned.
"I told you he inherited your mouth."
"Shh. Let him sleep."
The sun cast its light into the room, illuminating the face of a sixteen year old boy, lying in the center of a large bed, fast asleep. For however short a time, at peace with the world.
*
Sean hurried back up the path to the front door as quickly as he could without breaking into a run. Everything was ready, now all he needed was the guest of honor.
He was in such a hurry to get upstairs that he didn't notice the front hall had been cleaned, or that there was only one set of footprints leading up the stairs to the second floor.
He stopped outside the master bedroom, peering inside the door.
Harry was fast asleep on his parent's bed. Sean could tell from his footprints that he had looked in the wardrobes and dresser, then had apparently run and dove onto the bed, where he lay sleeping, completely unaware he was being watched.
Sean padded across the room softly and stopped next to the bed. Reaching down, he shook Harry by the shoulder.
Harry sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked around, confused for a moment, before he remembered where he was. He smiled at Sean as the memory returned to him.
"What time is it?" He asked, stretching and yawning.
"About four thirty. Come on, I've got a surprise for your dinner. Where's your friend?"
"I'm sure Hermione's wherever she wants to be. I wouldn't be surprised if she went into the garden, I noticed her staring at it earlier. Can I ask you a few questions though?"
"Shoot."
"First, what happened to my mother's wedding dress? I didn't see it when I looked in the wardrobe, and it wasn't in the box either."
"Did you look in here?" Sean pointed to a carved chest at the foot of the bed that Harry had not noticed before.
"What makes you think it would be in there?" Harry asked as he climbed off the bed and headed towards the chest.
"That, my boy, is what is commonly referred to among muggle women as a `hope chest.' Girls often receive them in their teenage years, and they keep things in it for their future children, clothes and things. After they have children, it becomes a keepsake box, for photo albums, wedding dresses, that sort of thing."
"And diaries?" Harry interrupted.
Sean grinned. "I suppose so, though don't be surprised if it isn't in there. Your mother went to great lengths to keep her diary hidden from your father."
Harry tried to open the lid, but it was locked. He took the ring of keys from his pocket, trying each until he found the right one.
The lid opened without creaking, evidence of the care it must have been given when his mother actively used it. Inside was a leather bound book. Harry picked it up, opening the cover to find a picture of his mother when she was a baby. He turned the pages, watching his mother grow up. A little girl in red pigtails riding a tricycle; eating an ice cream cone; wading in the sea. A school-age girl wearing a plaid jumper and playing skip-rope; reading a book; dancing with her feet on top of her dad's. A teenager with curly red hair, posing in a fancy dress; on the hood of a car with her face to the sun, sitting under a tree with his father, his arms around her as she leaned back against him, both looking into the distance.
He set the album aside and looked at the other contents. With some surprise, he noticed some dresses, obviously meant for baby girls. Had she been hoping for a girl then? Feeling slightly strange, he moved these aside and discovered a silken package, tied with ivory ribbon. He lifted this out and laid it on the end of the bed. Untying the ribbon, he unwrapped the silk, layer by layer.
It was his mother's wedding dress.
Layers of white silk peeked from layers of velvet. Ribbon chased over the bodice, shoulders and sleeves. Beads worked in the shape of vines and lily's adorned the skirt, which ended in a five foot long train, decorated with more beads, lace, and ribbon.
Harry picked it up by the shoulders, letting the skirt fall to the floor. His mother could not have been much taller than he, for when the hem touched the floor, the shoulders of the gown were level with his own.
A pair of shoes fell out of the folds of the train, clattering on the floor. Harry laid the dress gently on the bed and picked them up, marveling.
His mother's feet must have been very small to fit in these. They were made of glass, decorated with crystals and pearls. They must have had some sort of charm on them to keep from breaking. He was forcibly reminded of the story of Cinderella, thought he privately thought her shoes could not have come close to matching these in beauty.
Sean backed toward the door. "I'll go look for your friend, shall I?"
"No, wait. I still have something else to ask you." Harry stopped him.
Sean paused. "What?"
"Is there anything I should know about this place? Something my parent's may have mentioned in their will? I have a feeling you know something I should know." Harry said.
Sean suddenly recalled the dream.
"Only this," he began. "Your father would have wanted me to tell you this, so don't think I'm trying to take his place, I'm just telling you what he would have wanted you to know."
Harry remained silent.
"You must not turn your back on what you've longed for all your life. Have courage, Harry, and face your destiny with courage." Sean said.
Harry closed his eyes. Sean turned away, afraid he might have offended the young man, but Harry only said, half to himself, half to Sean,
"He must know what I'm facing, then, if he wanted you to tell me that."
Harry turned back to the hope chest, his gaze lingering on a picture of his parents on their wedding day. Not the picture he already had, but a picture of Lily and James sitting together at a table, Lily's head resting on James' shoulder, while James looked at the photographer. His eyes seemed to bore into Harry's, reassuring, caring.
He must know.
*
Harry followed Sean downstairs, noticing what Sean, in his haste, had not.
The hall was clean.
Sean hurried out the door, to look for Hermione in the gardens. Harry however, knew from the second he set eyes on the sparkling clean hallway, that she wouldn't be there. He returned to the kitchen. It too, was clean, but the dishes were still on the table.
He walked through into the living room, and froze.
Hermione was sitting in his mother's rocking chair, fast asleep. The sunlight shafting through the windowpanes gave her hair a burnished, coppery sheen, and she still held the bottle. A breeze from the open window moved the curtains so they brushed against her leg. She sighed and shifted to a more comfortable position, still asleep.
Harry felt a sharp ache in his heart as he watched her. Had this ever happened to his dad? Had he ever found Lily in such a state, gently sleeping in that same chair, a bottle clutched in her hand? Had he ever felt what Harry was feeling now?
Harry blinked. What was he feeling now? He wasn't angry, even though Hermione was sitting in his mother's chair, after cleaning his house. He wasn't surprised either. It was almost as if he expected to find her here, thought why he should expect that was beyond him. Did she really have such a place in his life that he fantasized about coming home to a scene like this, coming home to Hermione?
He crossed the room until he was standing next to her. An errant breeze moved a strand of curly hair across her face. He reached out to brush it aside. When his hand touched her cheek she smiled, and leaned into his touch. He shivered, whether from shock or longing he didn't know.
Without consciously realizing what he was doing, he knelt on the floor in front of her. Taking the bottle from her hand, he laid her hand in her lap, palm up. Leaning towards her, he laid his cheek in her open palm, resting against it. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He had the strangest feeling that his parents had also done this, that his dad had laid his head in his mother's lap, and she stroked his hair soothingly…
Like Hermione was doing now.
Hermione had woken up in time to see Harry lay his head in her hand. He looked exhausted, eyes closed, breathing deeply. She ran her fingers through his hair, hoping he wouldn't mind.
And Harry didn't mind. Neither of them said anything as they sat together, Harry on the floor at Hermione's feet, while she sat in the rocking chair, running her fingers lightly over his scar, through his hair, soothing him.
Hermione remembered the voice in her head earlier. He cannot do this alone. It had told her.
She promised herself that as long as she was alive, he wouldn't have to.
*
They arrived back at Hogwarts around midnight. Sean's surprise for dinner had turned out to be a party for Harry, which the entire village was invited to attend. Harry had spent most of the evening talking with people who were eager to welcome him back to his home.
Hermione watched Harry during the party, noting the change that seemed to have come over him. He was smiling more tonight than she had seen him at any other time since the beginning of sixth year. He laughed at jokes, shared a few of his own, learned a few dances from the villagers, and was even encouraged to relate the true account of his activities at Hogwarts. Hermione had helped in his narrative, putting things in perspective when he tended to get a little boastful, and joined in the villager's teasing when they learned the story of how Harry had stuck his wand up a troll's nose to save her.
Hermione ended up next to him when all the villagers formed a circle and tried to do the can-can. The undertaking wasn't very successful, and almost everyone ended up on the floor. Harry had ended up on his rear when Sean hooked a leg under him and tripped him up after Harry had laughed at Sean's own spectacular fall, and Hermione, laughing too hard to help either of them up, collapsed onto Harry's lap, where she put her arms around him and he wiped tears of mirth from her cheeks.
They had left about an hour after sunset. Harry promised to visit again over Christmas, and announced to all present that Sean would continue to look after the manor, (including cleaning) and that the next time he came, he would see to appointing a staff to help Sean in his duties. Several women and one man had come forward then, saying that they had been the maids and gardener of the estate, and that they would be only too happy to resume their duties.
Sean gave Harry the promised book of recipes, in return for Harry's promise that he would return to live at the Manor, once he came of age. This was a promise Harry gladly made, and Hermione could see how touched he was at the care shown him by the people he might have been a part of, had he been allowed.
So they left Godric's Hollow, the cheers of the villagers in their ears as they took off into the night.
Now Harry was once again hovering outside Hermione's window. She climbed inside the room without incident, and turned to say good-night to Harry, but he was already gone, heading toward the next window, the one belonging to the boy's dormitories.
The next morning however, she awoke to find a bouquet of roses in a vase on her bedside table, with a note in Harry's handwriting.
Please accept this pathetically clichéd attempt at a thank-you. Be ready for another one, to come soon, as part of my next wish.
Yours,
Harry.
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