Chapter 3: Summer at the Granger's
The first night at Hermione's house was an unusual one. Harry imagined that this must be what the phrase happy families referred to. Mostly, Harry had been used to one of two things in his life: one was being downtrodden by Uncle Vernon, scoffed at by Aunt Petunia and being the depository for all of the things Dudley grew bored of. The other was being hero-worshipped, ogled at by passers-by whose eyes shot straight to his forehead as soon as they heard his name. But that night Harry was in an altogether new world, an unfamiliar domain that gave him the fleeting impression of what Uncle Vernon would have described as `being normal'.
Because this is precisely what Hermione's parents were. Normal. Normal people, with normal lives. They just happened to have produced a rather extraordinary daughter. A rather inane grin had forged itself upon Harry's face and it must have seemed strange to all who could look at him. Hermione kept shooting him pained, desperate looks as though fearful he might have some kind of depression-induced seizure at any moment.
She had been acting very strangely since their heart-to-heart in his bedroom. She kept gazing at him with a very peculiar expression, one that Harry couldn't quite decipher. Was it pity? Was it sorrow? Harry never had been very good at gauging Hermione's emotions During dinner she seemed determined to not allow him to do anything himself. He only had to say, `Pass the…' and whatever it was, salt or pepper or water, it was in front of him before the words left his mouth. Once or twice Harry checked under the table that she didn't have her wand out performing Summoning Charms. Even her father noticed it.
`You all right there, Harry?' he asked with a smirk.
`Yes, thank you Mr. Granger,' Harry replied politely.
`Because if you can't cut your food or lift the fork to your mouth I'm sure Hermione wouldn't mind…'
`DAD!' Hermione hissed, blushingly furiously. Her father smiled at Harry who couldn't help but smile in return.
After dinner they made their way into the living room. It was wonderfully decorated and Harry liked the cosy warmth of the place. The carpet was fluffy and royal blue, there were two comfortable armchairs facing the television in the corner and a two-seater couch against the back wall. Harry was delighted to see a burnished oak bookcase, either side of a grand fireplace, stretching he length of the wall facing the couch; it just wouldn't be Hermione without a veritable array of thick, complicated books to entertain her. She, again, wore the look of anxiety she had shown when Harry entered his bedroom; he knew she wanted his approval.
`This is a lovely room,' he said to Mr and Mrs Granger, Hermione's face lit up, `and that fireplace is fantastic. Have you read all those books yet, Hermione?'
He asked the question with a grin and all three of the Granger's laughed; clearly Hermione's bookworm ways weren't confined to Hogwarts. They sat down, Hermione positively jumping onto the couch next to Harry, and Mr and Mrs Granger turned their seats around to face them. They chatted away for several hours, covering mostly school topics. Hermione's parents proved to be a captive audience, gasping and praising in all the right places as Harry recounted some of the more dramatic events of the last five years. They were, though, scarcely able to hide an expression of growing concern for their daughter's safety.
`So, Harry,' Mr Granger began, `Hermione tells us that you parents died at the hands of this, Voldemort, or whatever he calls himself. That must have been a terrible shock to find out.'
`DAD!' Hermione yelled, her face dropping to a look of horror, `You don't ask things like that!
`No, its ok,' Harry said, startling himself with the ease in his voice, somehow he didn't seem to mind talking about it here, `Well, it was a shock. For eleven years I thought they'd died in a car crash. So, being told an evil wizard killed them was definitely the last thing I expected. I haven't been able to forget it, or even deal with it really. Not with this scar, I got it the same night they were…well, you know. Every time my scar is mentioned I remember how I got it. Then, I've had to deal with Voldemort's return, more dragging up of old memories along with everything else. I had to hear their screams when the Dementors came to Hogwarts. And I had all those stories written about me in the Daily Prophet. They said I cried over my parents all the time, which I don't, but sometimes…well, I'm only human after all..'
Hermione's eyes were welling up with tears, her cheeks were twitching and her lips trembling.
`Oh, Harry,' she stuttered, `I never knew. Why didn't you say anything?'
`Too busy denying it, weren't we. That and…other things.'
Hermione's look changed in a flash. Gone was the half-pitying half-guilty expression, replaced by a confused, questioning one. She was staring into Harry's eyes and he had a fleeting query in his mind as to whether she had learned Legilimency. It wouldn't surprise him, she was incredible after all.
There it was again. An unexpected thought. This time he couldn't hide the startled look on his face and he knew Hermione had seen it. Harry hoped at that moment that she hadn't studied the mind-reading technique…
They went to bed half an hour later. Harry made quite a fuss of brushing his teeth very loudly, as he had the overwhelming impression that the Dentists Granger were outside, ears pinned to the door. As he left the bathroom they were standing outside the door to the bedroom at the far end of the corridor, loitering awkwardly. They both bade Harry a cheery goodnight as he went into his room and closed the door quietly.
Harry heard the door to Mr and Mrs Granger's bedroom close soon after his and began to undress. He decided to make an effort to stay tidy, reluctantly resisting the urge to toss his sweatshirt onto the floor and folding it neatly into his trunk. He unbuckled his jeans just as the handle to his door was eased down and the door opened.
`Hermione!' Harry cried quietly, flinging his arms up to his chest then back down as his jeans started to slip down, `Do you mind, I'm changing here!'
`Oh, sorry,' she said, blushing before taking a strangely long time to turn around. Harry felt slightly uncomfortable being in the spotlight like this, imagine what Hermione's parents would think if they walked in.
`I'm going to change now so no peeking! I said no peeking!' Harry whispered.
Harry kept his eyes focused on Hermione as he slipped out of his clothes and into his pyjamas. Several times her head moved slightly, causing Harry to either protect his dignity or else dive to the floor seeking refuge from the edge of the bed. He slipped into bed, told Hermione she could turn around, then marvelled at how comfortable the bed was. Even Hogwarts would have difficulty competing with this.
`Harry, I'm really sorry about earlier,' Hermione said with a consoling look as she sat down on the bed, `my parents do tend to be blunt. I'm sorry.'
`Its OK, really,' Harry said.
Hermione reached out her hand and squeezed Harry's forearm, which was on top of the quilt. She smoothed it gently as she spoke.
`I want you to promise me Harry that if you ever need to talk, ever…about anything…you'll come straight to me. No more bottling stuff up. You can talk to me about anything, don't be afraid to,' her hand starting smoothing a strange figure of eight pattern along his forearm, `I hope you feel comfortable here. That you're not wishing you were…well, elsewhere.'
`I don't want to go to The Burrow, Hermione,' Harry said firmly, `Right now, there's nothing there that I want.'
Hermione seemed to shudder slightly. She gazed at him with that look that Harry couldn't explain. If he had to put a word to it, maybe it'd be adoration. Maybe. But this was Hermione. Though didn't she look pretty tonight? He hadn't noticed it for too long. The thoughts washed over him and with each one the surprise lessened, but the flutterings beneath his chest intensified.
`Well, we'd best get some sleep,' Hermione said after a while, breaking the reverie, `Goodnight, Harry.'
She made quiet an effort of leaning over him to give him a light peck on the cheek furthest from her. She was scented, an intoxicating floral aroma that did something hypnotic to Harry's brain. Then it happened.
As she pulled away, she hesitated, only for a moment, but she stopped. Harry looked at her face, she was definitely too close. But he didn't mind. In fact, he wanted to inch closer. Just do it a voice said in his mind, reach out…do it…she wants you to…she's just a Golden Snitch, except you have to catch her with your lips…go on…closer…closer…
Hermione suddenly straightened up and pulled away, though hardly blushing at all this time. They exchanged a significant look; Hermione smiled at him. He wanted her back…wanted her close…to hold her…
`Night, Harry,' she said as she reached the door.
`That perfume you're wearing,' Harry said before he could stop himself, `Is that…er, the one Ron gave you?'
Hermione looked offended. `No, she said. To tell the truth, it's a bit, well, masculine to be honest. I, um, prefer a good book, me,' she smiled shyly, `Get some sleep, Harry. I'll see you in the morning.
Hermione turned off the light and Harry closed his eyes. How could he sleep? What a notion! All he could see was Hermione, her face so close…her skin so smooth…her lips…
Though not quite sure how he'd managed it, Harry did manage to sleep that night. He was awoken gently by Hermione at 10:30 the next morning. She had brought a tray of toast and a pot of coffee and a copy of the Daily Prophet. She had a strange glow about her; Harry was mesmerised.
`Morning,' she said softly.
`Its late,' Harry said, `why didn't you wake me?'
`I just did! Anyway, you looked so, well, cu-peaceful,' Hermione said, correcting herself quickly.
`Anything good in there?' Harry asked with a nod at the wizarding newspaper.
`No, not really,' Hermione said ruefully, `Nothing about you at all…'
`What about real stories?' Harry asked with a grin.
`Oh well,' Hermione said quickly, her now familiar crimson blush sweeping across her cheeks, `No. Just some stuff about the Death Eaters. Nothing major.'
She dipped her eyes behind the pages, the embarrassment etched into face. Harry got up a short while later, dressing in private after Hermione had left the room somewhat reluctantly. He threw on a pair of his nicest jeans and a T-shirt, fought a futile battle to straighten his hair before making his way downstairs.
`Morning, Harry,' said Mr Granger jovially, `Slept well I hope?'
`Yes, thank you,' Harry replied, `that bed is magical. Has Hermione been tampering with it?'
Mr Granger chuckled before kissing Hermione on the head and leaving for work. Harry and Hermione spent most of the day lolling around the house or garden. It was a fine day and Harry enjoyed spending most of it on the small putting green Mr Granger had had installed in their vast back garden. Having never played golf before Harry was pretty useless; he was sorely tempted after several particularly poor misses to wrap the golf club around the cherry tree at the bottom of the garden, but managed to restrain himself. Hermione, for her part, seemed more than happy to give Harry pointers.
`You're holding the club wrong,' she said after Harry was forced to bite the club handle in anger, `Come here, and let me show you.' She wrapped her arms around him and slid her hands down onto his, positioning them on the club, `You just…um, well, hold it…like…like this, and…touch it, touch it gently…um…'
She let go of him, fiddling furiously with her hair as she stepped away from him. Harry felt more disappointed than he though was healthy.
That night Harry never slept at all. His mind was awash with all sorts of conflicting things and he couldn't relax at all.
Its Hermione. She's a friend. Why I am I suddenly thinking about her like this?
He remembered Dudley's taunting, and the incident which caused it. He shivered at the very memory of Hermione lying there, that purple flame curse still whipping through the air…
But I cant like her, I'd have known before now. And she cant like me. She likes someone else, we've thought over this before.
Harry put that thought out of his head. For some reason the mental image of Hermione and anyone but him at this moment made anger boil up in his depths.
Its because she's brought me here. Yes, that's it. She taken me from Privet Drive and I'm all happy with her because of it. It isn't anything else. It certainly isn't THAT! No, I'll sleep now.
And he did. But not well. He dreamt he was a contestant on a game show and the host was asking members of the audience to give reasons why they thought Harry and Hermione were involved for money. Rita Skeeter was given ten Galleons for reciting her Daily Prophet article and Krum and Cho were given a joint prize for their views on the matter. Then Luna Lovegood stood up saying that Harry was linked to Hermione by a Humpbelled Lurgymurk and that meant there was no doubting the matter…
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