Unofficial Portkey Archive

Just Called To Say…

Author: Marie (J) Granger
Title: Just Called To Say…
Challenge: Hermione attempts to comfort Harry, who is grieving over Sirius's death
Summary (for fics): Telephone calls during the summer after Harry's fifth year help him get to know Hermione (and himself) better.

Warning (if applicable): Some of the angst in this story may be unexpected.
Other ships (if applicable): None seen, many discussed.
Rating: PG-13 to be on the safe side.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I making any money from this endeavor.

Part: 1 of 8.

Notes: I'd like to dedicate this story to five people. First, Athena, my wonderful beta reader; without you this story would not be half as interesting or a quarter so readable. Thank you so much for taking the time to polish it. Second, "Luney," who first encouraged me to write "mush." I'm not sure she'd be proud of me for exercising the skills she taught me to write Harry/Hermione, but I think about her often as I do. Third, my husband, who nags me to work on this and doesn't mind when my art imitates life. Fourth, Amanda, who kicked me back into gear of writing this ages ago. And Finally, Pen/Gal, who helped me get brave enough to post it to Portkey.

Part I

Number four, Privet drive was more open to Harry Potter during the summer following his fifth year than it had ever been before. Calling it hospitable would still be an overstatement, but people no longer growled when he entered a room. Harry had even sat through an entire episode of East Enders with his aunt one afternoon - not that he'd noticed or paid any attention to it of course.

If Harry had bothered to wonder about his relatives' suddenly moderate nature, he could have attributed it to fear - fear that Harry's friends would suddenly appear on their doorstep and carry out their threat to make the Dursleys pay for mistreating Harry. Since a mere week had passed since that threat was articulated by two of Harry's former teachers, it was likely still fresh in his aunt and uncle's minds.

Dudley, however, had room in his piggish mind for only one thing these days: Ludmilla Canard. According to Dudley's dinnertime boasts, he had met her at an interscholastic boxing competition. Dudley knocked out their school champion and Ludmilla had apparently been smitten with him immediately. If the picture propped up on Dudley's night table was anything to judge by, she bore a striking resemblance to one of Aunt Marge's prize pugs, but Dudley's strutted around the house as if she were Britain's next super-model.

For the safety of the neighborhood children, Dudley's infatuation was a godsend. He refused to leave home unless absolutely necessary, for fear that Ludmilla might call in his absence. Piers Polkiss had become de facto leader of the neighborhood miscreants, but his tastes ran more toward graffiti than physical violence. He apparently spent most of his days creating new, more colorful phrases to paint around the play park (which had been cleaned up by the citizens while the boys were off at school). Jessamyn Norman, a nineteen-year old girl who lived on Magnolia Crescent, probably figured into many of them as the boys tried to come up with synonyms for "tramp."

Piers had dropped by for tea one evening and afterwards the boys had spent time in Dudley's room discussing trouble-making. Aunt Petunia naturally assumed the 'little dears' were just talking about their girlfriends, and was happily gossiping on the phone with her friend Yvonne, oblivious as to what her son was really up to. Harry had retreated to his own room to try and do some homework, but was annoyed to hear the two hooligans' loud voices and laughter through the walls. He hadn't seen the delinquent behavior for himself though, because he had not set foot outside number four since he returned.

As he had unpacked his trunk he'd found a note that had somehow made its way in among his things:

Harry,

Do not leave your aunt and uncle's unless accompanied by a member of the Order. Your Aunt's protection only safeguards you within the house.

~ Professor Dumbledore

What was worse, he suspected that Dumbledore had been in contact with his aunt again because she had expressly forbidden him from leaving the house. Harry doubted that anything could have brought him joy that summer, but the bland walls of the Dursleys' house were already driving him mad. The occasional news he got from his world helped only a little. He took the Daily Prophet every morning and had already received several letters from his friend Ron about life at the Burrow and the surprisingly positive start for the Chudley Cannons. Hedwig and Pig had been busy for several days during an especially long match as Ron kept Harry updated on each goal scored in the three day game. The Cannons' seeker had finally caught the snitch in a spectacular dive; Ron had been beside himself.

Oddly, Harry had yet to hear from his other best friend. Hermione had written like clockwork the summer before; even though there was nothing to say, he had gotten a letter from her every two days. This year he didn't even know where she was spending the summer. He supposed she could just be lacking access to an owl. He'd send Hedwig to find her in a day or two if he didn't hear from her. He scowled to think that she could be at the Burrow but hadn't found time to write in the week since he'd last seen her on the Hogwarts Express.

This evening Aunt Petunia had gone off to an office party with Uncle Vernon, remembering to warn Harry to stay put as she left. Dudley had refused to stir; he was expecting Ludmilla to ring. Harry had plopped himself down in the living room and was mindlessly watching the telly with Dudley.

Dudley kept glancing at his watch every five minutes and muttering under his breath, "Why hasn't she called yet?" Harry couldn't help but snicker at his cousin when he started pacing the room and looking at the wall clock.

"What's the matter? Wish you had a girlfriend? Huh. Like any girl would ever go for a scrawny little nothing like you…"

"One did," said Harry surprising even himself.

"What? You're lying. Hah, I thought you went the other way. Maybe you've had a fight with your boyfriend." Since Dudley seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice, Harry decided he didn't need to correct this perception. He'd rather keep his brief relationship with Cho Chang secret anyway. "What was his name again? Carver? No… Cedric. Yeah, that was it. What, did he want to take things to the next level? Maybe things were getting too serious! You were muttering last night…"

But Dudley's jibe caught in his throat as Harry was suddenly standing directly before him and his head had collided with the living-room wall. Steely green eyes locked on watery blue towering a foot above them, but height was no advantage since the hand generally found holding a quill or wand was now firmly around his cousin's neck. "Dudley, if you ever mention that again, I will kill you with my bare hands, boxing champion or no."

Dudley gaped at Harry for several moments, unable to speak. Before he could develop an appropriate retort the jangling of the telephone interrupted their stare-down. Harry let go of Dudley, who promptly dove for the receiver and answered in falsely honeyed tones that belied his stature, "Hey baby doll, what took so long?" He listened for a few seconds, spluttered, "Come again?!?" listened again, then scowled and thrust the phone toward Harry. "It's for you," he hissed. "A girl. Be quick about it, you."

Harry took the phone, utterly baffled. Who could be calling him? Cho? She didn't have his number. Ginny? He doubted she'd know how to use the phone any better than her brother had three years before, and Dudley hadn't acted like the caller had unusual phone manners. Still curious, Harry ventured a hesitant, "Hello?"

"Harry! Oh, I'm so glad I've caught you. I was worried that your aunt and uncle might be back already. Of course, I called as soon as Hedwig arrived. I'd given her instructions on the train to come to me if she ever saw both Dursleys getting into the car. I was beginning to wonder if they'd ever leave together and I had promised Tonks I'd get a hold of you soon so I'm not sure what I'd have done if she hadn't come this evening." Harry looked up to see Dudley making a slow slashing gesture across his throat with a look of pure venom in his eyes.

Harry cleared his throat and broke into Hermione's enthusiastic recital, "Er, Hermione? My cousin's expecting a call so I should really ring off…"

"Oh, of course, how silly of me! I'm at my parents' house for the summer and they've installed a private line in my room, so if you could just call me back at midnight we'll have time to talk without disturbing anyone. My number is…" she proceeded to rattle it off so quickly that Harry barely had time to transcribe it correctly. "Have a great evening, Harry, and I'll look forward to hearing from you later."

"Um, right. Okay. Bye."

Harry hung up the phone, still nearly as bewildered as when he'd grabbed the receiver. He retreated to his room with Hermione's number, afraid of Dudley's mood turning further south. However, before he went to bed that night he smuggled the cordless from the downstairs washroom up to his room.

When his clock rolled over to 12:01, Harry dialed the number Hermione had given him. He didn't bother to consult the slip of paper; he had been staring at it for over four hours so he felt that the number had become permanently imprinted on his brain.

A breathless Hermione answered after only half a ring, "Hello?"

"Er, hi. You asked me to call you back."

"Yes, I did. You see, Tonks had the idea that the telephone would be a good way to keep in touch with you this summer. The Ministry doesn't monitor it, it can't be intercepted like an owl, and I doubt if any of the Death Eaters would recognize a wire tap if it snuck up and bit them." Harry grinned at the odd analogy. "Anyway, she thought I'd be the best person for you to call because it's not a long distance call for your uncle to pay for and it gives me something useful to do while I'm stuck at home."

"Stuck?" Harry ventured, wondering where she would rather be - the Burrow?

"Yes, stuck. You know Professor Moody's a stickler about security, and in order to stay in a Muggle neighborhood for the summer I had to promise him I wouldn't leave the house without authorization. Now I have to spend all day with only Crookshanks for company; we've started fighting over the prime square of sunlight as it moves across the dining room every morning. Grimmauld Place may have been grim, but at least I had people to talk to and cleaning to keep me busy."

"Why didn't you go back to Grimmald Place, then?" Harry asked, wondering why anyone would condemn themselves to a house arrest like the one that was chafing him.

"Well, I did back out of that ski trip I was supposed to take with my parents at Christmas and I spent all of last summer with the Order, so Mum was raising a bit of a stink about seeing me. I guess she wrote a letter to Professor McGonagall about how much she wanted to have me home for the summer."

"Mm-hmm," replied Harry, even though he imagined the Dursleys would be thrilled at the prospect of not seeing him for an entire year - or ever again for that matter

"When Professor McGonagall and Tonks were both in St. Mungos they brainstormed ways to get me here safely, and then they called Moody in for the details. He came to see me in the hospital wing to tell me about all the arrangements, but he made sure I knew he thought I was being foolish for coming back here at all - he won't even let me have The Daily Prophet delivered anymore because he's afraid someone might follow the owl," Hermione answered ruefully.

"Follow the delivery owl?" Harry clarified, unbelieving, "That's a bit farfetched, isn't it?"

"Well, that's just Moody, isn't it? Constant Vigilance and all that," Hermione sighed, "I miss getting news, though. Tonks said she'll drop by for tea when she can and give me some sort of news, but I know it'll be filtered to just what they think I should be allowed to know."

"Yeah, that's annoying," Harry replied pointedly. He knew it would bug her not to be able to follow everything that was going on, but he had been in the same boat the previous summer. "I'll let you know if anything big happens."

Hermione lapsed into an uncharacteristic silence. Just as Harry was wracking his brain for a way to fill it, she ventured, "Um Harry? I… I wondered if you might want to talk about Sirius. I mean, at Hogwarts it seemed like you sort of wanted to, but Ron kept shushing me." She said everything after the first "I" in a single breath.

"Well," Harry answered, trying to fight off the catch in his voice, "I, er, thanks… but no. I don't… I don't think I'm ready yet."

"That's all right," Hermione replied quickly. "I just wanted to offer. I'll be here to listen, you know, whenever." Harry nodded and Hermione somehow got the message because she plunged ahead, "At any rate, Tonks thinks it would be wise - and I agree - if you could just call me every night and let me know that you're okay and you don't need anything."

"Sure," Harry said, not sure what else to say. "Ah… what are you doing this summer?"

"Reading mostly. I've done about a third of our summer homework already. Have you started yours yet?"

Harry suppressed a chuckle at her slipping back into their usual pattern. "Actually, yeah. I got really bored a couple days ago. Finished the whole Potions essay and got part way through the Charms one."

"That's terrific, Harry," Hermione exclaimed with an audible grin.

"Yeah, thanks." Harry searched around for something else to talk about. "So, what are your parents doing? People who'd name their daughter Hermione must be rather interesting."

Hermione laughed, "They're sleeping now. They're really not that interesting - dentists, you know. As for my name, I think maybe they were trying to make up for their own boring ones. Dad's called William and Mum's Anne. Can you get any more British than that?"

Harry hemmed, "Well, maybe if they were called William and Mary…"

Hermione giggled, "True. Well, honestly, Dad named me. He's a huge Shakespeare buff and he thought 'Hermione' was pretty."

"It is," Harry murmured.

Hermione continued as if she hadn't heard, "Mum didn't think much of it so she tacked on 'Jane' as a way of civilizing the odd name. She really has no room to talk since she named me after her favourite author, too."

"Who's…" Harry began, but Hermione answered before he even finished the question.

"Austen. Mum reads Pride and Prejudice at least once a year and went catatonic when the BBC's version of it came on the telly."

"Hermione, you read Hogwarts, a History at least once a year too," Harry reminded her, but then relented, "As for the BBC Pride and Prejudice, my Aunt Petunia still babbles on about that like a love-struck schoolgirl, but I think that's just because of Colin Firth. She reads every magazine she can get about him too."

"Yeah, my mum fancies him as well. That book is really Mum's only vice," Hermione hedged. "According to my grandmother, she's been passionate about oral hygiene for her entire life and she's always wanted to help people. Dad's a different story. He always says he'd have been a literature professor if his parents hadn't insisted on dental school. He makes up for it by reading with me every chance he gets. Even this summer he's gone back to reading to me before bed, just like he did when I was a little girl. He still calls me "My-nee," but he no longer pats his knee and bounces me up and down when he does it. Right now we're reading 'the Scottish Play.' It was Dad's idea to read literature that deals with witches and have me tell him how close they came."

"That sounds nice," Harry said, hearing the fondness in her voice.

"It is," she replied, "I'm not sure what we're going to read next, though. He's gone through everything he can remember that has to do with magic in letters with me."

"Why don't you just read Hogwarts, a History with him?" Harry asked.

"Yes, that would be perfect!" Hermione exclaimed. "I think that might really help Dad understand what my life is like. And maybe then he could help Mum understand…" she trailed off.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Mum isn't very happy about my being gone so much. She says she hardly knows me anymore. She's trying to 'connect' with me through girly activities like cooking and going through fashion magazines and getting me this phone. But I wear robes most of the time so clothes don't matter much to me. Professor Sprout supposedly does a mini-course on domestic spells with the sixth year girls, so Muggle cooking isn't that necessary either. The phone makes things easier, I suppose. And lying to them all the time doesn't help, even though they don't know that yet."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, confused.

Hermione sighed, "They don't know Voldemort's back and they wouldn't really understand what that means even if they did. I mean, last summer Professor McGonagall told them I could take a summer course in an old magical house in London that'd help me prepare for my O.W.L.s, but that wouldn't work again. To make matters worse, there are all kinds of security measures around this house that Kingsley Shacklebolt set up before I returned home. My house isn't even visible to magical people unless I tell them the address. It's like a reverse of the Muggle repelling charms that are cast on Hogwarts. He did that so that my parents wouldn't have trouble getting the post or the newspapers. They've also lived here for twenty years, so it's not like the neighbors wouldn't notice if the house suddenly disappeared. Anyway, Shacklebolt has moved into a flat across the street from us and he shadows my parents on their tube ride to work every morning. They have no idea. I keep on having to make up ridiculous excuses about why I can't go out to dinner or to a play or something with them. I'd just level with Dad, but I'm afraid Mum would have a conniption fit. Furthermore, guess who their receptionist is?"

"Who?" Harry asked, having no idea what she was talking about.

"Penelope Clearwater. I didn't even find out until I was talking to Kingsley on Wednesday. She went to work for their dental office last summer because Professor McGonagall and some of the other Order members worried that my parents might be targets for Death Eaters." Harry wondered whether she meant all parents of Muggleborn students were in danger or whether hers were a specific target, but he was somewhat afraid to ask. Hermione continued, obviously on a different train of thought, "Mundungus has found a legitimate position, too, but I bet Mrs. Weasley's not happy about it."

"Why not?" Harry asked, wondering where she was headed with this.

"Because he's working for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," Hermione answered immediately. "But since they're an official company now he can do procurement of controlled substances legally - or mostly legally, anyway. The twins have also employed Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet. The girls take turns minding the front of the store so that the twins can keep inventing new merchandise in the back room. They've got a flat above their premises too, and Ginny says they get up to a lot more than sleeping there - much to her mother's chagrin."

Harry chuckled, imagining Mrs. Weasley's reaction to this news perfectly. "I'm surprised you know all this, Hermione. You don't seem to be the kind of girl who'd be into 'information sharing,' as Professor McGonagall calls it."

Hermione laughed, "Harry, I live nine months of the year with Parvati, Lavender, and two deaf-mutes. Even if I tried to avoid gossip it'd happen by osmosis while I slept. For example, I could probably tell you the details of every time Lavender and Seamus snuck off to the Astronomy Tower last year. I could also give you the complete angsty roller-coaster ride that was Parvati's crush on a Muggle boy from her home town. Or I could…"

"Stop, please!" Harry cried, laughing, "I'll wake up my aunt or my uncle, and that'd get me in big trouble."

"All right, I'll stop," she agreed, "But you have to call again tomorrow night."

"I will. Thanks, Hermione."

"Sure. Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight." As Harry hung up the phone he felt better than he had in weeks.